


Undone

by RowanBaines



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Feral Spock, First Time, Forced Bonding, Gore, Healing, Hurt Spock, M/M, Non-Consensual Mind Meld, Protective Spock, Recovery, Stranded, Telepathic aliens, Violence, Wilderness Survival, alien war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 86,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During first contact with the highly telepathic Nghians, an invasion begins on their home world. A powerful psychic attack cripples the populace--and Spock.</p><p>Out of contact with the Enterprise and stranded on a planet at war, Jim must struggle to keep himself and his violent, unpredictable first officer alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't thank [Druxykexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy) enough for being such a great beta and such an endless source of support and encouragement. She stuck with me while I wrote this, and her enthusiasm kept me going when the going got tough!

**\- The Vulcan -**

 

The Vulcan’s eyes flew open, wide with terror. He had some sense that he had been something else before, that what he had become was abnormal, terribly damaged even, but he could not begin to understand what his previous self might have been. He knew only that some kind of barrier in his head, once immeasurably tall and thick, had been obliterated. As a result, everything in his mind was mushrooming out in a rapidly expanding, roiling cloud of unchecked emotions.

 

There was a terrible noise all around him, a fierce, guttural screaming. It was only when he became aware of the scratching pain in his throat and the air violently leaving his lungs that he understood that the sound was coming from his own mouth.

 

It seemed for a moment that he should feel shame for this unhinged howling, that he needed to pull everything back inward until it compressed into a fine, controlled point somewhere deep inside him. But any controls he once possessed had been completely annihilated by some unknown force. He was only this now: a highly sensitized bundle of pain and joy and anger and love.

 

There was someone very near him, and where this man’s hands touched him he felt concern and fear and anger that did not belong to him. Disturbed by these emotions which were not his own, the Vulcan lashed out so that the hands left him. There was a crash and a cry of pain.

 

The other was making noise, repeating the same sound again and again. He had drawn near again, but remained just out of reach. He would not go away, and he kept up his urgent chant.

 

That voice… It was calling to him. It was concern and hope and sadness all in one.

 

The Vulcan stilled his flailing limbs and focused on the sound of that voice. So familiar. There was safety in that voice. He heard a short, clipped sound come out of his own mouth in response and understood that he had named this treasured being.

 

 _Jim_.

 

It was the only thing the Vulcan knew for certain in this world that was shifting and collapsing and reforming all around him. This name, this man. The Vulcan reached for him. The man was radiating joy and fear, as his hands pulled the Vulcan to his feet.

 

Jim. His Jim. They were in terrible danger and he must do something.

 

They were in an enclosure of some sort, a cage. They must get out of this cage. With a thunderous yell the Vulcan threw himself against the entrance of their cage, then backed up and charged again and again. There was the sharp splintering of wood and the high creak of twisting metal. He was so intent at his task that he did not hear his Jim crying out in alarm until he stood back to look at what he had done.

 

The door was shattered and hanging open, and Jim was clutching frantically at the Vulcan’s arm and his shoulder, his hands coming away green with blood.

 

The Vulcan caught Jim by the wrist and tugged him roughly forward. He shoved him past the ruined door and rushed down a long corridor toward the bright glare of sunlight. They reached the end of the corridor and burst into a large, high-ceilinged room. The Vulcan pushed Jim to the ground as a bolt of blazing light shot past his head.

 

He launched himself at the nearest alien, one hand catching it by its pale silver hair, and the other crashing in a fist to split open its skull. Blue blood gushed down over alabaster skin, and the Vulcan let the alien drop, moving on to the next and ripping its head around on its thick neck, delighting in the crackle of its bones snapping.

 

More white light blazed past him, and a searing hot pain went through his shoulder. He whirled and darted, leaping to grab the alien’s weapon hand, and he shattered its wrist with ease. The alien cried out, and one of its companions fired another bolt of light at him, but he shielded himself with the body of the alien in his grip and then let it drop lifeless to the floor. He was diving toward the one who had fired the shot, when Jim appeared behind the alien and knocked it unconscious.

 

The Vulcan came to a stop standing over the alien, and then crouched down, wrapping his fingers around its neck. This alien had tried to harm him, would try to harm his Jim. He would not allow this. He felt Jim yanking at his arm and heard his agitated vocalizations, but the Vulcan knocked him away and reached back down. He dug his fingers deep into the pasty flesh of the alien’s neck and blue blood splurted and gushed between his fingers in a satisfying torrent, pooling on the floor around the pale head. The alien’s light grey eyes had shot open and were staring emptily at him in death.

 

He felt his lips curve up at the corners, and he let the pleasure of being alive and the elation of victory flow easily through him.

 

His Jim was angry, beating his fists against the Vulcan’s back in his distress. Not wishing to agitate Jim further, he stood up and allowed himself to be led out of the building and into the sunlight.

 

The dead and the dying were all around him. Aliens—these ones smaller and grey-skinned—were collapsing on sidewalks and in the streets. They tumbled out of buildings, their minds split open and their mouths gaping in silent screams. But the Vulcan could hear their screams in his head, and the anguished cacophony of dying telepaths crippled him, blinded him, left him writhing and vomiting onto the pavement.

 

He was paralyzed by the overwhelming sea of grief and pain around him, and it was with great difficulty that he was able to turn his attention to the man standing above him. Jim was pulling at him, shaking him, and pouring desperate noises into his ear.

 

The Vulcan climbed unsteadily to his feet, and it was then that he saw the source of Jim’s urgency. Coming down the street was a group of the pale Aliens. He turned around to see that another group was coming from the other direction, and he understood that they must leave this area immediately. He was not afraid of these beings—but he would not risk Jim’s life.

 

Linking their arms around each others shoulders—the Vulcan leaning more heavily on Jim than he would have liked—they fled down a small side street.

 

The mental cries of the small aliens dying around them were beginning to overwhelm the Vulcan again, and he fell to his knees, shaking and moaning. His Jim yanked him up, leading him on and on, not heeding his anguished cries. They had gone a fair distance when Jim suddenly knocked him to the ground behind a line of hedges, his body pressed protectively over the Vulcan. They heard hurried footsteps pounding by and shouting. When it was silent again, Jim pulled him up and they continued, still clinging to each other.

 

The Vulcan noticed with some approval that the buildings around them were becoming smaller and spaced more widely apart, and ahead he could see more vegetation. He was pleased that Jim was leading him out of the city and away from the attacking aliens.

 

Jim must remain safe.

 

The road they were traveling alongside seemed to be leading them into a sparsely populated, mountainous terrain. The Vulcan quickened his step, moving more easily now that the worst of the telepathic death throes were behind them. He was no longer leaning on Jim, and strode quickly forward, slowing occasionally to cast anxious glances back at his lagging companion.

 

After walking for some time, the Vulcan looked back to see that Jim was breathing heavily, sweat streaming down his face. Jim stopped abruptly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He called out, and the Vulcan stopped walking, waiting patiently while Jim caught his breath.

 

As the trees had become more numerous and the buildings more infrequent, they had found themselves in shade more often than not, but the noonday heat seemed to be wearing on the human. Jim clumsily pulled his shirt off, tying it around his waist before leaning his rump back against a tree as he let his upper body fall forward. His hands were on his knees, and he was staring at the ground with an expression of strained dejection that tugged at something in the Vulcan. He moved closer to his companion and squatted down low so that he could look up at Jim’s tired face.

 

Jim’s eyes met his. They were as golden as the leaves fluttering above them, and the Vulcan felt his breath catch. The full lips were pressed into a firm line and the brow furrowed as Jim’s eyes bored into him, seeming to strip him bare. The Vulcan felt that he should understand this look. He knew that Jim’s obvious disquietude should mean something to him, and he should feel something very particular in response to it, but he could not gather what that was. He felt his own brow furrow, and his mouth fell open as he struggled with his need to somehow reassure the being in front of him.

 

To his relief, Jim’s features suddenly softened. Jim stood up straight, catching the Vulcan’s arm and muttering something low but gentle as he led them on again. The hand dropped away too soon. They resumed their former pace, Jim’s breathing still deep, but more even.

 

They had been walking for nearly two hours when the Vulcan veered off into the woods that had grown thick around them. He clambered behind a large boulder, and reached out to pull Jim down next to him. Below them on the road a large vehicle zoomed past, coming from the direction of the city. It was followed by five smaller ones, and they tensed at the sight of the grim, pale faces behind the protective shielding of these heavily armed craft.

 

After the aliens passed by, the Vulcan stood and led Jim away from the road, deeper into the wilderness.

 

They walked on in silence, and the Vulcan began to feel concern for his Jim. He himself could go on for many more hours, but he sensed that the human was becoming weary in his body and in his mind. He wanted to put as much distance between them and the invading forces as possible, but he resolved that they would stop and rest as soon as they found a suitable place.

 

They came upon a small, unpaved road, and though the Vulcan was hesitant to follow it, Jim darted forward with renewed energy. He had no choice but to go after Jim. When they came upon a small dwelling nestled at the foot of a steep, rocky slope, surrounded by smaller more colorful trees, he grudgingly followed Jim to its entrance.

 

They approached the entryway of the dwelling, both of them slightly crouched and watchful. The Vulcan moved swiftly past Jim and pressed himself to the door, listening intently. When he made out no sounds within the dwelling, he listened with his mind until he was sure there was no one inside. He nodded slightly to Jim and tried the door. It swung open and the Vulcan stepped gingerly inside, still wary of being attacked at any moment despite the peaceful silence. He sniffed at the air, and then, finally satisfied that they were safe for the moment, moved to let Jim enter.

 

As Jim moved past him his naked arm brushed the Vulcan’s raised hand, and the Vulcan was momentarily puzzled by the strange mixture of impatience and affection that came through the contact point. And worry. His Jim was steeped in worry, though his face did not show it at the moment.

 

Jim was communicating with him now in what he knew were words, but the meaning the of noise escaped him. He could tell by the tone and the set of the human’s handsome features that he was pleased with something. He watched Jim with covetous fondness as he moved deeper into the domicile to find what he was after.

 

It was clear that the place had been abandoned in a hurry. There was a half-eaten meal on a low table, and cabinets had been flung open and partially emptied, various containers flung around on the countertops and floor. Jim was moving about the room collecting the containers, examining them and adding some to a growing pile on the little table.

 

Jim eventually abandoned the pile of boxes and packets, and wandered down a hallway to another room, the Vulcan on his heels.

 

It was a room for sleeping, and contained a bed and a few storage compartments. Jim immediately began to go through the compartments, obviously searching for something in particular. The Vulcan wondered at the care Jim took with the alien’s belongings, as it seemed unlikely that the being would return even if it managed to escape the invaders. At the thought of the pale aliens and their weapons the Vulcan felt rage fill him. He stalked over to the window to peer out at the dense woods, searching for any hint of movement.

 

Jim must hurry. They must not linger here too long.

 

Jim let out a satisfied noise, and the Vulcan turned away from the window to see him holding up a small pack. Jim lengthened the small straps and slung it over his shoulder, testing it. When he was satisfied, he dropped it down on the bed and shoved folded blankets into it, along with a few other items he had gathered. He carried it—and another bag with only one long strap—into the room with the food, and began to load the containers into the empty bag.

 

The Vulcan followed Jim as he explored the rest of the dwelling. When they came to the small room with the stall for washing and a toilet, Jim turned and motioned for him to sit. The Vulcan stood still, gazing at him in confusion. The human sighed and put his hands on the Vulcan’s arms, pulling until he lowered him onto the closed lid of the toilet. The Vulcan sat still, staring questioningly into Jim’s hazel eyes.

 

Jim was talking to him in a soothing voice and tugging at his tunic, so he raised his arms and allowed him to tug it off. The Vulcan had forgotten that he had been injured. Jim tended to the wounds, cleaning and bandaging his shoulder with the supplies he had gathered. The human’s touch was warm and calming, and the Vulcan let his head fall forward to rest against the smooth skin of Jim’s chest. He did not realize that his hands were stroking Jim’s muscular thighs until the man froze, stopping his gentle vocalizations.

 

Jim backed away from him slowly, his face blank. He handed back the tunic and left the room.

 

The Vulcan felt something twist painfully inside him, but got up and followed Jim. He was crestfallen and aching for more contact with that smooth skin, for more of the tingling electricity that shot between them, charging him with desire.

 

That could wait though. They must keep moving.

 

The Vulcan pulled on his shirt and followed after Jim. He went to the table, shouldered the heavier bag Jim had packed, and walked toward the entrance. He stopped just before he reached the door, looking back to make sure Jim would follow. Jim understood and shrugged the smaller pack onto his shoulders. Jim gazed wistfully around at the disordered but cozy room before striding past his companion and out the door.

 

The Vulcan walked out into the sunlight, squinting as his eyes adjusted. Feeling Jim go tense beside him, his heart skipped a beat. Something hot and poisonous flooded him as he glared at the three aliens in front of them.

 

The pale alien faces were frozen with surprise, their weapons half-raised, and the Vulcan took that moment to act.

 

He shoved Jim ahead of him as he dove toward the edge of the building, hearing the weapons discharge just as they made it around the corner. He dragged Jim with him around to the back and threw him up onto the steep hill, snarling and striking Jim forcefully when he tried to slide back down the rocky face to rejoin him. He shoved at Jim’s legs and growled until the man started to ascend, and then turned, dumping his heavy bag to the ground just as the first alien burst around the corner.

 

The Vulcan jumped forward, dropping into a roll and leaping up at the alien, catching him in a death grip. He snapped its neck and whirled when he saw a flash of light, howling with rage when he realized that the other two aliens had gone around the other side of the dwelling and were firing at Jim. Jim was nearly to the top of the ridge, but slipped as a blast of fiery light exploded next to him. He began to tumble downward.

 

The Vulcan cried out in fury, charging the aliens. One of them turned to fire on him, and the Vulcan swerved off his course just enough that the shot flew past his head. He covered the remaining distance with a speed that sent the now frightened alien staggering back into the other one.

 

He swung and clawed and tore, ignoring the heavy blows that occasionally landed on him, the bloodlust whipping him into a violent frenzy. Then there was stillness, and he was standing above two mangled corpses, his eyes still blazing. He turned to see that Jim was gone. He noted with relief the swaying of exposed tree roots where Jim had managed to find purchase before pulling himself to safety.

 

Snatching up the bag, he reached out, and catching the top of a large boulder, hoisted himself up and began to climb. When he reached the top he immediately scanned the surrounding area, but to his horror Jim was nowhere to be seen. It was then that he heard the snapping of branches. He turned to his right to see two more aliens moving toward him through the trees.

 

He must find Jim, but first this threat must be eliminated.

 

The aliens had spotted him, but he moved with agility and swiftness between the trees. When he caught the aliens he dispatched them quickly, relishing the look of surprise and fear on their faces as they went.

 

There were more of them. He could hear them moving off quickly into the woods, as if pursuing something. Pursuing his Jim. The Vulcan lunged forward, running as fast as his long legs would carry him, his vision blurring with rage. This group of three was so intent on their prey that they did not know that they, too, were being hunted until the Vulcan was upon them.

 

When they were dead the Vulcan stood silently, head bent, listening intently for any sound that might indicate more of the aliens. He heard nothing. He was alone.

 

Jim. He must find his Jim.

 

He thought he spotted a trail and began to follow it, but he lost it when the trees thinned out and he found himself climbing up a rocky hillside. How far had Jim gone? Would Jim come back for him? What if he encountered more of the aliens and was killed?

 

The Vulcan filled with fear and began to search frantically, so careless in his haste that he nearly tumbled over a precipice that dropped sharply to the ground far below. He watched small pebbles tumble down and then backed up, heart throbbing. He must be careful. If he died, who would protect Jim?

 

He began his search again, moving more carefully now, but still feeling desperation surge through him in waves. He heart was aching, his mind racing. He needed to find Jim, needed him near. He needed the human’s alluring scent and his warm skin and his soothing presence.

 

He realized he was running and slowed, turning in a circle to look around him. The sun was going down and the forest around him was getting darker, increasing his sense of urgency. He must find Jim before the sunlight completely faded away. Jim must not be left alone in this strange place at night. He reached out to Jim with his mind, hoping to touch that warm spirit with his own and find him that way, but he met only darkness and silence. He could not find Jim.

 

Jim was gone, lost in this wilderness.

 

The Vulcan fell to his knees and let out a cry.

 

Anger. Misery.

 

He rocked himself back and forth, clutching at his aching head. He was alone, and worse, Jim was alone as well, out there in this strange place.

 

Whatever else there had been in his mind before had been obliterated when the walls crashed down. There was only Jim now. If he could not find Jim what point was there in going on? What purpose did he serve if not to protect Jim, most cherished of beings? What pleasure could he get from life if he could not bask in Jim’s bright presence and share with him the task of living?

 

His head jerked up at the sound of very light footsteps. Someone was moving stealthily toward him, perhaps drawn by the cry he had uttered. The Vulcan kept his head lowered and rose slowly to his feet, not turning toward the soft sounds, but listening carefully.

 

Whoever it was had stopped a short distance from him, and become perfectly still.

 

The Vulcan’s whole being shuddered with relief as a familiar voice called out from behind him. He turned, his eyes shining with joy, and watched his Jim stride up to him. Jim had put on his shirt again—protection against the rapidly cooling air—and was grinning as he reached out a hand to grasp the Vulcan’s shoulder. The Vulcan moved fast though, slipping past the outstretched hand to catch Jim in a fierce embrace.

 

The Vulcan nuzzled into him with a soft whimper, nipping and lightly tasting the salty skin of Jim’s neck, his arms snaking underneath the pack to wrap tightly around the broad back. Jim stiffened, and the Vulcan reluctantly moved his mouth away from the enticing throat, but he did not release his grip. Not until Jim slid his hands up between them and pushed hard against the his heaving chest did the Vulcan let him go. He let himself slide to the ground, still shaking with relief, his head drooping in exhaustion.

 

Jim stood still for some time before finally lowering himself down next to the Vulcan and gently stroking the bowed head. The Vulcan pressed his head into the stroking hand, eyes closed and face going slack as he completely relaxed, all the pain and fear he’d been feeling slipping away. He wanted it to go on forever, this melting caress, but too soon the hand was withdrawn and that warm voice urged him up.

 

They must go on. They could not risk being caught again, so if they meant to rest at some point during the night they must first put more distance between them and the city. The Vulcan was sure that if they moved deeper into the mountainous terrain the pale aliens would not find them. The invaders would have no reason to go into uninhabited areas, so they must isolate themselves as much as possible.

 

The Vulcan accepted the hand that was extended to him and stood up. As he walked along, letting Jim lead now, he contemplated the last hour or so. He had been separated from Jim and unable to find him, and it was only pure luck that his desperate searching had brought him so close to Jim. It was luckier still that Jim had heard him cry out and had located him. This must not happen again. He needed a way to keep track of his human. He needed a link with him, needed to be bound to him so that they would never be separated again.

 

It was a matter of survival. It was an undeniable need to protect Jim, and beneath that, it was pure, aching desire.

 

He wished to join with his Jim, but first he must lead him farther from danger.

 

The Vulcan followed close behind Jim until the light faded and the spaces between the trees grew black, before he took the lead. He peered searchingly into the dark and pulled Jim along behind him as he weaved around trees and over boulders, climbing steadily upward.

 

The forest had been fairly quiet by day, but now the air around them was buzzing with strange whoops and rumbling calls. The Vulcan’s movements became slow and cautious, his eyes sharply focused and his head cocking to the side, as he listened quietly to the night.

 

He stopped suddenly, sniffing the air, and pressed himself back against Jim until the man was pinned against a rocky outcropping. Jim shoved at him, but the Vulcan paid him no heed, listening intently and trying to make out shapes in the dark. He sniffed again as a sharp animal scent hit him, and Jim, hearing this small sound from his companion, stopped his struggling to peer around him into the dark.

 

They were on a well-worn trail that led up a steep section of hill. Though there were no trees around them, jagged, rocky protrusions provided ample cover for any animals that might be lurking in the area. The Vulcan was sure that some large animal was close by. He carefully let the strap slide from his shoulder and eased his bag to the ground.

 

Jim whispered something to him, questioning him, but the Vulcan pressed back harder until Jim let out a hiss and then fell silent, waiting.

 

This planet’s moon provided some illumination, but that faint light would do them no good if a predator leapt down on them from above. He looked up at the looming boulders and listened.

 

It was not long before he heard it: a soft snuffling sound and the shifting of gravel. He went deathly still, and Jim, feeling his tension, stopped moving as well. The human’s breath came in slow, quiet puffs against the Vulcan. Feeling Jim’s breath against his shoulder stirred him, made him fierce with the desire to protect his companion, and his lips pulled back in a silent snarl as the shuffling of a large animal drew closer.

 

The animal did not come from above, but from between two jutting crags a little further up the trail. When the animal finally came into view the Vulcan immediately understood what was responsible for the beaten path they had been traveling. The creature had large, hoof-like feet, thick squat legs, and long fur covering its body. It was the head of the beast that concerned the Vulcan though. As the creature lifted its snout and scented the air, the Vulcan saw rows of small but undoubtedly sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight.

 

The creature was huffing wetly and moving straight for them, and though it seemed wary, it had not sighted them yet. The Vulcan felt a surge of panic. As soon as he moved the creature would spot them, so he would need to pick the right moment to leap. He hoped Jim would not try to interfere, but there was nothing the Vulcan could do to make sure that he did not. He briefly considered knocking him unconscious, but that would be too dangerous for Jim if the struggle did not go well for the Vulcan.

 

The creature was closer now, and they could see the mottled grey pattern of its fur and smell the acrid stink of its heavy breath. Jim shivered against his back, and the Vulcan knew it was as much from the chill of the night air as from fear. The Vulcan lowered himself slightly in a crouch and was preparing to spring, when he felt Jim’s hand squeezing his arm as if to hold him back. Anxiety was seeping through the touch, but the Vulcan made his decision, and knocking the human away as he went, jumped for the creature.

 

He had meant to land on its back, but at the last second the creature whirled so that he found himself straddling its head. The creature let out a throaty squeal and violently tossed its head, partially dislodging its attacker and striking out with its hooves. The Vulcan dangled on the creature’s shoulder, sinking his hands into the long fur and hanging on with all his strength as the mighty hooves landed with deep echoing cracks against the rocks. The creature managed to turn its head around and it slashed at the Vulcan, its teeth sinking into his side and pulling a strangled cry from him.

 

He heard a loud _thock_ , and felt the creature jerk beneath him. He only caught a glimpse of Jim wielding a large stick before he vaulted himself up onto the creature’s back, wrapping his arms around its thick neck.

 

He yanked upward with all his strength, and the creature reared up with him, its high-pitched squeal turning to a gurgling hiss as the Vulcan tightened his grip, using his feet to brace himself against a rock. In a last, desperate act the creature flung itself onto its side and began to roll over onto the Vulcan, its stubby legs kicking in the air. The Vulcan felt the pressure squeeze the air out of him, felt his ribs begin to crack, and he fought madly against the darkness that was overtaking his vision.

 

He must not fail. Jim was nearby. Jim needed him.

 

His mind was sinking rapidly downward when the pressure suddenly eased. When his vision cleared, he saw Jim throwing his weight into the creature, shoving at it with all his strength to lift it off of him. The creature was still now, and the Vulcan gave one final, vicious squeeze, completely crushing its neck.

 

Releasing the creature, he dragged himself out from under the furry bulk, and staggered to his feet. Jim was immediately at his side, slinging an arm around his waist and pleading with him as he began to stumble up the path. Jim darted back for the abandoned bag and then back to the Vulcan’s side, pulling at him and trying to block his path. The Vulcan knew where he was going though, and swatted Jim away when the man tried to make him be still.

 

He struggled onward, moving toward a gaping crevice ahead. Shelter.

 

When Jim spotted the dark split in the stone, he stopped trying to slow the Vulcan’s pace, and instead hurried forward, pulling him along. Jim stopped as they reached the well-trodden entrance, eyeing the opening warily. But the Vulcan moved past him, pausing only for a moment before plunging into the dark. The opening was just wide enough for the furry, hoofed creature, and tufts of its long fur clung to the rough edges of rock where it had passed through time and time again.

 

The Vulcan sniffed the air and listened carefully for sounds of movement. The cave opened up around him as he crept forward, and he quickly decided that the now dead creature had been the only occupant.

 

He heard Jim moving behind him, followed a clicking sound as light flooded the cave, throwing his shadow out in front of him. The cave was not very large and the Vulcan had to crouch a little even at its highest point, but it was wide enough that he could lie across it and twice as deep. It ended with a jagged niche that housed the bones of various creatures. The Vulcan crept forward and examined the bones, and after noticing the various patterns of teeth and claw marks etched into them, decided that the furry creature had been a scavenger, feasting on the leavings of other predators.

 

Jim had set the lantern down in the middle of the space and was staring in disgust past the squatting Vulcan at the collection of bones. His gaze drifted to the Vulcan and his eyes went wide in alarm. He rushed forward and dropped down to his knees, hands fumbling as he pulled at the Vulcan’s shirt. The Vulcan, realizing what had alarmed the human, let him pull the dirty, blood-soaked shirt off and examine his wounds. The creature’s teeth had left four oozing, blood-caked gashes along his side, and he knew that on his chest mottled bruises would be forming where his ribs had nearly shattered under the creature’s weight.

 

Jim was making concerned noises as he rushed to one of the packs. He began to root around in it, pulling out and piling up a few items. He gathered up the supplies and moved back to the Vulcan, immediately setting to work dressing the wound.

 

The Vulcan watched Jim quietly, greedily drinking up the sight of him. Jim’s full lips were pouting in concentration and when he sucked lightly on his bottom lip, brow furrowed and eyes intent, the Vulcan felt heat blossom low in his belly. As those sure, warm fingers brushed his skin, the heat in his veins burst into a fire that tore through him, shooting out into his limbs and making his vision shimmer with lust. He must possess this man. They must not be separated. The mere thought of losing his Jim made the Vulcan shudder.

 

He would have him. He would join with him.

 

The human had bandaged his wound and was now staring at him in obvious concern as the Vulcan shivered under his touch. The gaze was questioning, Jim’s eyes so full of affection and trust. It was almost enough to make the Vulcan hesitate for fear of breaking that trust. Almost.

 

The Vulcan caught Jim in his arms pushed him down onto the sandy floor of the cave, lowering himself on top of him and burying his face in the human’s shoulder. He nuzzled and bit through the fabric of the shirt, mildly annoyed by this barrier between his mouth and Jim’s skin. Jim had been frozen beneath him, shocked into stillness, but as the Vulcan straddled his hips and started to pull the shirt off he began to struggle, striking out in fear and anger.

 

The sharp nature of Jim’s emotions hurt the Vulcan far more than the blows, but he would not be deterred. He must have Jim. Jim’s fury lashed whip-like at his mind, but he could not bear the thought of being separated from him again, unable to find him.

 

He must do this.

 

Jim landed a particularly powerful blow to his aching chest and the Vulcan gasped. Wheezing painfully, he caught the human’s wrists and pinned them to the ground. He bent down, panting hotly into the human’s ear and then rose up enough to catch Jim’s mouth with his. The kiss was forceful and burning, a demand for more. The Vulcan let out a frustrated cry when Jim yanked his mouth away, turning his head to the side to yell at him.

 

The Vulcan let his head drop to Jim’s chest, pressing down heavily on the struggling body beneath him as he tried to gather his thoughts. But the need to join with Jim’s mind finally overwhelmed him, and he pulled the wrists in his grasp up and together, taking them both in one hand. With his free hand he tenderly caressed the side of Jim’s face. Jim was repeating two sounds over and over, desperately pleading. The wretchedness in that voice made the Vulcan pause, fingers hovering over the face so twisted with emotion.

 

He was on the verge of releasing Jim, when his fingertips brushed the man’s temple and electricity arched between them, begging for the link, for completion.

 

Jim must have seen the moment when the Vulcan made his decision, because his eyes went wide and fearful. Then they rolled back in his head as the Vulcan’s fingertips joined them together, obliterating the world around them.

 

Their minds crashed into each other with brutal force, churning and ripping apart and mixing together again in a raging storm of fractured memory and emotion. The Vulcan surged deeper, his mind wrapping around Jim’s and piercing it with all the savage force of his animal need, and Jim’s mind reeled and tumbled and twisted in pain and confusion.

 

Jim was fighting him, raging against him. He was radiating hurt and betrayal that made the Vulcan recoil, but then push forward, desperate to join, to comfort, to reassure. He reached, touching, blending. There was a flare of light.

 

The Vulcan felt Jim’s agony first all around him and then, moving deeper, he felt it inside of him as if it were his own. Then he was screaming and Jim was screaming, and he did not know where he began and Jim ended.

 

In a powerful, desperate wave, Jim surged against him, and the Vulcan, not wishing Jim’s mind to break against his, let himself be driven back. The force of the onslaught was such that the Vulcan felt his mind tear at the edges as it ripped away from Jim’s. Suddenly back in his own head, his body collapsed off of Jim and onto the floor.

 

No matter. He had done it. He could feel Jim’s presence in his head, faint but unmistakable, and knew that if he turned inward he would see the shimmering thread connecting them, thin but tremendously strong.

 

Jim was somewhere nearby, and at the sound of his retching and his pained, dry sobs, the Vulcan tried to climb to his feet, only to drop down into a heavy heap of aching muscle and tingling skin. Jim’s misery was deeply distressing to the Vulcan, but his battered and abused body was no longer under his control. He could not move to comfort him. As he felt his consciousness begin to sink he became aware that Jim was standing hunched above him.

 

He struggled vainly to make sense of the strange look on his face.

 

As he lost conscious he tried not dwell on the flash of manic ferocity that slipped into him through the link from the man above him. The twisted expression faded from view as he sank.

 

He was at Jim’s mercy now.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**\- James T. Kirk -**

 

Kirk’s breath came in sharp gasps as he looked down at the sleeping Vulcan. His stomach was twisting with nausea, and his legs trembled beneath him as he struggled to remain standing. Once he assured himself that Spock wasn’t getting up anytime soon, he backed away and slumped against the craggy wall of their cave. His head was throbbing, and he was still reeling from the assault of Spock’s mind on his.

 

He had melded with Spock before, but this had been very different. Spock’s usually calm and ordered mind had been in violent chaos and feeling the assailing storm of raw Vulcan emotion had been a harrowing experience. His mind felt battered, bruised, and sore.

 

His anger was pumping through him like fire in his veins, and for a moment he had the urge to fall upon Spock, so helpless in sleep, and beat him, break his bones, spill his blood. He clung to his rage, fed it unsparingly, much preferring the heat of anger to the cold emptiness of betrayal.

 

That Spock could force him like that...even with Spock’s mind in chaos Kirk had been so sure of him. He had been sure that he, at least, was safe.

 

He had been wrong.

 

Feeling unsteady, Kirk let himself fall forward onto his hands and knees and crawled toward the backpack near the entrance of the cave. He opened it, and with shaking fingers, he pulled out a blanket. After a long pause, he took out a second one. He edged toward Spock, watching him carefully. The Vulcan’s chest was almost imperceptibly rising and falling, his breathing painfully slow but even, and his angular features seemed softened by sleep. Kirk was almost positive that Spock was slipping into a healing trance. If that was the case, he didn’t need to worry about Spock catching him off guard again.

 

In fact, without Kirk’s help, Spock would most likely not wake up at all. Kirk glared down at him, clenching and unclenching his fists.

 

Spock was at his mercy now. And how damned like Spock to trust Kirk with his life after what he’d done. The nerve of him. Still, something in Kirk ached at the memory of his friend from a few days ago, when they’d arrived on this planet.

 

Signy IIV, or Nghia, to its people, was a class M planet inhabited by a peaceful species of highly telepathic aliens. They were small beings, averaging about one and half meters tall, and the deep-set, overly large eyes in their perfectly oval heads had gazed at the visitors to their planet with serene detachment. They all had some degree of markings spreading out from their foreheads in a faint, honeycomb pattern, and Kirk had found it interesting to note the variations in color and size of the markings.

 

Spock, having telepathic abilities himself, had communicated more easily with the Nghians than his Captain. He had expressed mild enthusiasm about their hosts that translated, in Kirk’s mind, to a very strong interest in the beings.

 

The Nghians had no problem sending their thoughts into the minds of their visitors. Their visitors quickly found that if they focused and directed their own thoughts the Nghians were usually able to pick them up and understand them, though there was some confusion at first due to cultural differences.

 

After a day exploring the capital city and telepathically conversing with its people, Spock had come to sit at Kirk’s table in one of the simple yet elegant rooms provided for them. His fascination had shown plainly in his eyes.

 

“Captain, the Nghians are a most remarkable people. Their thoughts are both logical and well-ordered.” High praise, indeed, from Mr. Spock. “I find that contact with their minds is very…soothing.”

 

“I would imagine so, after being stuck on a ship full of chaotic humans,” Kirk had teased, smiling fondly at him.

 

“Indeed,” was the terse reply.

 

The Nghians were technologically advanced in some ways, but in other areas they seemed to lack any interest in new developments. Their ships were warp capable but beyond that they seemed to have little interest in improving their spacecraft, and they had no interest in exploring very far outside their own star system. In contrast, their medical technology was astounding, and from what Kirk had learned, they were constantly striving for further progress when it came to the medical sciences.

 

Overall they were peaceful, intelligent, creative beings, if a little remote.

 

Upon approaching Nghia, the _Enterprise_ had detected a ship coming from the planet’s neighbor, Signy IV, a smaller planet with an almost arctic climate. Kirk had tried to establish contact with the ship, but their hails had been ignored and the vessel had slowly retreated, shields up.

 

It had made Kirk uneasy. An unknown factor like that could come back to bite them later, but Nghia had been welcoming enough, in its reserved way, and the only option he’d seen was to move forward.

 

When Kirk spoke with the Nghian who had stepped forward to act as ambassador for her people, he had questioned her about Signy IV and its inhabitants. Her responses had all been vague images and aloof snatches of phrases that lost much in translation. All of their telepathic communications had this problem, as one did not precisely see the words themselves but, rather, sensed the meaning, the intent.

 

He did learn that the mysterious aliens called their planet Cadoa—the sound rang clear as it flowed into his head and his mind supplied the word—and he got the impression that they were a more aggressive species who felt threatened by their peaceful neighbors. He wondered if it was the Nghian’s powerful telepathy that made the Cadoans so wary. It wasn’t uncommon for psi-null beings to be leery of those with telepathic abilities, especially if that ability was as powerful as it was among the Nghians.

 

He would never have guessed that the Cadoans would launch such a violent and devastating attack on the planet, though. Especially not with the _Enterprise_ —a far superior vessel to the Cadoan ship that had approached them—in orbit.

 

When the call came in from the _Enterprise_ informing him that the ship was under attack he had hated that he wasn’t on the bridge, but there was no way he would order the shields to be dropped for as long as it would take to beam up. The _Enterprise_ might be more technologically impressive, but the Cadoans had the advantage of sheer numbers.

 

It had been a surreal moment when the invading ships had entered the atmosphere and dropped the devices that detonated high over the city. A terrible dread had grown in him as he watched the billowing black clouds spread out across the turquoise sky, misting slowly down toward the metropolis below. The ambassador had led them into the soaring glass structure they called simply the Tower, a center for their social events and the meeting place for their council.

 

That’s where Kirk and Spock were when the ground assault began.

 

When the Cadoans took the Tower, they immediately bombed it with whatever chemical or biological agent it was that they were using as their weapon. Kirk had watched in horror as the Nghians began to drop, eyes wide and mouths gaping. The Cadoans had observed Kirk and Spock for a few long minutes, perhaps to see if they responded to the weapon, and then forced them into a small room. They completely ignored Kirk’s attempts to negotiate.

 

The aerosolized weapon seemed to be designed to only affect telepaths, so Kirk had watched Spock carefully, searching for any change in him. Kirk’s apprehension grew into a serious panic as Spock began to become disoriented and finally collapsed. Kirk had clung to his friend, watching those warm brown eyes go black with fear, seeing Spock’s face become that of a stranger as he gradually sank into madness.

 

Kirk’s hope had flared a little when Spock freed them from the room and attempted to lead them to safety, but it had been dashed when Spock began to fight his way out of the building. A primal fire had seemed to light Spock’s eyes as he ripped apart the aliens, smashing and tearing as if charged with an insatiable bloodlust. He had been animal, savage and implacable, and Kirk had seen nothing of his friend in the raging Vulcan.

 

He knew he had to get Spock away from the city as quickly as possible, and he’d been relieved when Spock seemed to have the same idea.

 

They had been separated at one point, and Kirk shuddered to think of what Spock had done to the aliens that had been pursuing him. Kirk had accepted Spock’s fiercely protective behavior toward him as a remnant of the friendship that was still between them, but he had been shocked by Spock’s response when they found each other again. They had always been close, and even though Spock had allowed more contact with Kirk than anyone else, he had never been so tactile with Kirk before.

 

And he had certainly never done anything even remotely sexual.

 

Had Spock harbored romantic feelings for him before this mess, or was his behavior purely the result of the Cadoan weapon? Kirk found that he was somewhat disturbed by the idea that his first officer might have felt anything more than friendship for him. He would admit, of course, that Spock was an attractive man, but Kirk had never seriously considered him as a possible love interest. Even though Kirk was not opposed to the idea of being intimate with a man, he didn’t think he would want to risk ruining their friendship.

 

Kirk was suddenly struck by the fact that all of his worrying about Spock’s feelings would be pointless if they couldn’t get back to the _Enterprise_ so that Spock could get the help he needed. Could the damage to his mind be reversed? The thought that his friend might truly be gone sobered Kirk, and all of his anger vanished.

 

He should rest now and worry about what to do in the morning when his head was clearer. Kirk unfolded one of the blankets and draped it over the unconscious Vulcan. He picked up the lantern and scooted back against the wall before unfolding the other blanket and pulling it around his shoulders. He needed rest.

 

He sighed deeply and then switched off the light, plunging the small space into absolute darkness. In the moments before Kirk drifted off he was distantly aware of a warm presence in his mind, shimmering faintly at his mental touch, and then dimming as sleep began to take him.

 

He dreamed of mutilated corpses and flowing blood, and he cried out in the dark.

 

*

 

Kirk woke up shivering from the cold, his teeth clattering together and his limbs pulled up tightly to his chest under the blanket. The sun had not yet fully risen, but the cave was filling with the soft light of morning. Though Kirk’s eyes burned a little with exhaustion, he could clearly make out the shapes around him. The packs were by the cave entrance and the lantern had toppled over next to him, but it was the unmoving form toward the back of the cave that drew his eye.

 

Spock was so still, his complexion sickly grey in the dim light. Kirk could see no hint of movement, no sign of breathing. His heart skipped a beat and he sprang to his feet, stumbled, then settled for crawling to his friend. He grasped at Spock’s neck to feel for a pulse, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and his fingers were too numb. He cursed himself loudly when he noticed his own breath coming out in white puffs.

 

Spock’s skin was cool. Far too cool.

 

“Damn it, Spock!” he cried out through chattering teeth.

 

He vigorously rubbed at Spock’s arms, his chest, and then cupped the sunken cheeks for a moment in indecision before curling up against him and yanking the blankets over them both. He pulled himself tightly against Spock, half on top of him, and pressed his ear against Spock’s chest. For a moment his own heart seemed to stop, until he remembered that the Vulcan heart was not in the same position as a human’s. He scooted over and pressed his face against Spock’s side. He groaned with relief when he heard the faint thumping.

 

He straightened out again, resting his head on Spock’s shoulder, and draped his arm across him. His hand rubbed absently, slowly stroking heat back into the chilled skin.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kirk murmured.

 

No matter what happened, no matter what Spock had done, no matter what he did in the future, Kirk would not give up on him. He knew that now. He must not fail his friend. He must get him through this. He would do everything in his power to heal this man who had always been there for him, who had saved him more times than he could count.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kirk whispered again, letting his eyes flutter closed. He had stopped shivering, and there was a delicious warmth flowing between him and Spock, dulling his mind and lulling him into a light slumber.

 

He didn’t fight it.

 

This time he did not dream.

 

*

 

When Kirk’s eyes snapped open, Spock was warm beneath him, and his features seemed more tranquil. He could tell by the light now flooding the cave that it was about mid-morning. He peeled himself away from Spock’s lean body, eager for movement and action. Kirk checked the wound on Spock’s side, and satisfied that it was not becoming infected, got up and moved toward the sunlight. He gave Spock one last long look and then went out.

 

He hadn’t had the time or inclination to eat the day before, but now, sprawled on the smooth ledge before the cave entrance with sunlight bathing his skin, he felt the gnawing pangs of hunger. Kirk scooted back and reached into the cave, tugging the larger of the packs toward him, and began to dig through it. He lined up a few pastel colored boxes and bags, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. The packaging was plain, and the elegant but spare Nghian script gave Kirk no clue as to what was within.

 

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” he chided himself, snatching up a sage green box and tossing the rest back into the bag.

 

He tore open the little box to find a clear bag inside, containing what looked like dog kibble. Kirk put on a brave face, opened the bag, and popped a round, tan pellet into his mouth.

 

“Huh. Not bad.” Kirk shoved a small handful of the pellets into his mouth. They were dense with a faintly herbal smell and had a savory, almost buttery taste. He quickly devoured the contents of the bag and then stood, swiping a few small crumbs off of his pants.

 

His hunger was not completely satisfied, but he promised himself he would eat more later. For now he felt the need to be active.

 

Kirk went back into the cave, taking slow, noiseless steps even though he knew it wouldn’t matter if he banged on a drum. Spock was still unconscious, of course. Kirk checked his breathing, and after laying a hand across Spock’s forehead to gauge his temperature, he adjusted the blanket and left the cave.

 

He strode out onto the path, inhaling deeply and stretching his arms in great swinging arcs. He wouldn’t go far, not with Spock defenseless in his healing trance, but he needed to be out of that small, dreary space and in the daylight.

 

Kirk looked up to see large, reddish birds soaring in slow spirals toward the ground further down the hill. Curious, he climbed onto a large boulder to see what they were after.

 

“Of course. That needs to be moved.” Kirk frowned. The large animal Spock had killed the night before was stretched across the path a little further down, and Kirk knew it was only a matter of time before other creatures were drawn to its carcass.

 

Kirk made his way down the slope, pausing to pick up the stick he’d used the night before to thump the beast on its head, and stopped in front of the furry bulk. One of the red birds was feasting happily through a hole ripped in the beast’s gut, and Kirk waved his hands and yelled to frighten it away. But the bird would not be so easily deterred.

 

It lifted its small, dog-like head and snapped its pointed beak at Kirk, emitting a rattling growl. Kirk swung the stick, and it flew up into the air, angrily kicking its taloned feet.

 

“Shoo!” Kirk cried, waving the stick and stomping his foot.

 

The bird flew up a little higher, shrieked, and then plunged toward him, mouth open and dagger-like talons reaching.

 

Cursing, Kirk flung his arm back, poised to strike. The bird was almost on top of him when he swung the stick, and there was a small burst of downy feathers and a shrieked “Aaaaaaaaiii!” as the stick hit its target. The bird tumbled through the air and landed a few meters down the hill before shaking itself and flying away. The other birds took the hint, and though they continued to hover above Kirk, they kept their distance.

 

Kirk turned to the carcass. It was big, about the size of an Earth grizzly bear, and Kirk wondered how far he would be able to move it. He nudged one of its outstretched legs and hoped that the stiffness of the remains would make it easier to move.

 

Kirk pulled off his shirt, took a deep breath, and went to work.

 

He managed to shove, drag, and roll the carcass down the slope, until it came up against a jutting rock and became stuck. Kirk straightened, stretched his limbs, and then thrust all of his weight against the furry mass. It lifted, teetered, and then tumbled over the rock, splattering him with gore as it went. It rolled and slid down the hill in an avalanche of pebbles, flattening shrubs and tossing out meaty chunks and fur.

 

“Good enough.” He panted, retrieving his shirt and turning to jog back up the path. He didn’t like to be away from Spock for too long. He felt something, almost like a pulling sensation from somewhere inside of him, drawing him back to the cave. He sighed when he reached the threshold, and an anxiety he hadn’t been entirely aware he’d been feeling evaporated. Spock was still peacefully asleep, exactly as Kirk had left him.

 

Kirk dug around for a container, found it, and guzzled a third of the water within before flopping down next to Spock. It was much cooler in the cave, but his body was dewy with sweat from his exertions, and he kept his shirt off. He rubbed at the smeared animal blood on his chest and cringed; he really needed a bath. Once Spock woke up they could go in search of water, but right now he would stay close to him.

 

“I wish I had my communicator. And a phaser,” he said wistfully to the sleeping form of his first officer. Of course, a communicator wouldn’t be any good if there was no one to communicate with. The _Enterprise_ would have retreated out of Signy space to wait for reinforcements, and as far as Kirk knew, the closest starship to their position had been almost a week away at maximum warp.

 

“We may be here for a little while, Spock, but we’ll get back.” He stared down at Spock, worried by his ashy complexion. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be…”

 

Kirk stopped, drew himself up, and huffed out, “Okay.”

 

*

 

The feeling that he needed to remain close to the cave made it difficult to venture out very far. By noon he had completely explored the areas around their shelter that allowed him to keep the cave entrance in sight.

 

He raided the food supply again, eating a spiced paste from a yellow pouch. The substance gave him a colossal burst of energy, and he bustled around the cave, arranging the few items he had into piles, then rows, then piles again. He finally shoved everything back into the bags and set about arranging any stone he could lift into pleasing patterns beneath the ledge that he thought of as “the porch.”

 

Recognizing the foolishness of his actions, he scattered the rocks and trotted up and down the path, exploring a little further each time until he felt the pull again and returned to the cave. Crashing after his burst of energy, he collapsed next to Spock in exhaustion and immediately fell asleep, one hand resting on Spock’s arm.

 

He dozed for perhaps two hours, comforted by Spock’s proximity, and woke feeling more like himself, the last lingering effects of the paste tapering off.

 

Still, he was restless.

 

The days here were shorter than on Earth, and Kirk was reminded of this when he wandered back outside some time later, tugging his shirt back on as he went, to see that the sun was already dipping down toward the mountain behind him.

 

He crossed his arms against his chest, noting the chill in the air, and kicked absently at a pile of rocks on the edge of the porch. One dark rock, angular and caked with dirt, tumbled down to strike a larger rock, splitting in two. Kirk’s eyes widened. He jumped down and picked up the two pieces to examine them.

 

Where the rock had split, the stone was smooth and dark and shot through with shimmering color. He had seen obsidian before, but never with a rainbow of color running through in incandescent, rippling lines. It was mesmerizing.

 

Kirk grinned.

 

It might also be very useful. He looked around and was glad that he had gathered so many stones during his paste-fueled madness earlier. He picked up a fist-sized stone, hefted it, then tossed it, searching out another. He went through four or five rocks this way, testing them, tapping them against larger rocks and throwing them away when he decided they wouldn’t suit his purpose. He finally settled on a smooth ovoid stone that fit nicely in his palm.

 

Kirk eased himself down, sitting cross-legged, with a chunk of obsidian perched on his knee. He had no idea how to start so he just went for it, picking up the obsidian in his left hand and adjusting his grip on the stone in his right. He brought the stone down against the obsidian with a crack, watching as a jagged piece flaked off in a spray of glassy rain.

 

He paused, examining the sharp shards of black rock across his lap. He stood, carefully dusted himself off, and went into the cave. He came back out with a piece of thick cloth, one of the two hand towels he’d taken from the abandoned house. He had known he’d find some use for them, but he never would have pictured his current situation. He settled back down and draped the cloth across his lap.

 

He struck the rock again and braced it against his thigh for the next try. He tried again and again from different angles, varying the amount of force until, quite by luck, a large flake about fifteen centimeters long slid off.

 

He held up the blade of obsidian and chuckled to himself. Here he was, the distinguished starship captain, sitting on a rock and knapping stone, beaming over a crude blade as if he’d just invented warp drive. He wished Spock was awake to share the moment with him, but then again, he didn’t suppose Spock was in any position to appreciate the humor of the situation. This thought tempered Kirk’s mood and he went back to work, carefully chipping away at the blade.

 

Unsure what he could use as a handle, he did his best to blunt the edges on one end. When he was done, he examined the finished work. The blade itself was rough and somewhat asymmetrical, but it was a strong, sharp tool. As the last of the sun’s light flickered against the shifting eddies of red, orange, and teal, Kirk gave an appreciative little nod and clambered to his feet. He shook out the towel and used it to sweep the stray shards and discarded scraps off the porch. He gathered up a few of the larger shards to keep as backups if his finished blade should break, and then he sat back down.

 

He wouldn’t go back inside until he had to. He still had too much on his mind to think of sleeping just yet.

 

He sat and watched the world around him grow dimmer. The landscape was a blotchy confusion of deep, rich hues against black, the sky becoming an indigo canvas for the spattering of unfamiliar stars. It seemed unbelievable that just beyond the rolling foothills that spread out before him in inky waves, there was a city under siege. He hoped the gentle Nghians were fighting back against the invaders, and he wondered where the _Enterprise_ was and how his people were dealing with the crisis.

 

When Kirk began to hear the twittering and bellowing of nocturnal creatures, he finally retreated into the cave and switched on the lantern.

 

He wouldn’t stay up long—there was no point in wasting the lantern’s battery—but he didn’t want to lie down yet. He felt the need to talk, and sat down at Spock’s side, letting out a long sigh.

 

“I was very productive today, Spock,” Kirk said, almost startled by the sound of his own voice. “I could have used your help moving our furry friend, but I did alright in the end.”

 

He chuckled and then became serious again. “I’m going to get us out of this, I promise you that. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get you the help you need. You’ll be okay, I know it. You have to be. I need you.”

 

He watched Spock’s face, half-expecting him to open his eyes, but Spock was as still as he had been all day. Kirk had not had many opportunities to observe Spock so closely, so openly, and he did so now with considerable interest.

 

There was something noble in the cast of those features. Spock’s glossy black hair was mussed, and bruises marred his pale skin, but even still his high cheekbones and gracefully slanted eyebrows evinced the refined character that Kirk was sure still lurked beneath his current brutishness. Kirk would not allow himself to believe that Spock’s condition was permanent. He needed Spock, needed his cool logic and his unshakable loyalty, his subtle humor and his restrained but solid friendship.

 

He could not lose him.

 

With that thought, all his protective instincts surged up in him and he switched off the lantern. He crawled under the blankets and wrapped himself around Spock’s lean body, pleased by the fact that the Vulcan’s skin began to warm so quickly against his.

 

“I won’t let you get cold tonight. Not again,” he mumbled against him. “Goodnight, Spock.”

He didn’t know how long he stayed awake, enjoying Spock’s presence and listening to the night sounds of Nghia, but when he did finally drift off it was into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

*

 

Once again Kirk woke up before the sun had crested the horizon. He spent some time just listening to the whisper of Spock’s breathing and wondering what the day held for him.

 

When rays of pinkish sunlight began to pour into the cave, Kirk sighed and sat up. He pulled the blanket down to Spock’s waist and examined him. Spock’s skin seemed less ashy, his cheeks almost flushed, and upon inspection Kirk was pleased to find that the gashes on Spock’s side were healing rapidly.

 

After tucking the blankets back around Spock, he stood and stretched. He had a quick breakfast on the porch before emptying the backpack onto the floor. He picked up his knife, admired it for a moment, and put it into the backpack. He gathered up a few first aid items and added those as well.

 

He stood up, slung the backpack over a shoulder, and turned to Spock.

 

“I won’t be gone too long,” Kirk said. He wanted to say more but found that his thoughts would not quite coalesce into something that he could verbalize, so he simply pursed his lips and walked out into the waiting morning. He still felt the strange pull that kept him close to Spock, but he had seen no indications of any animals besides birds and various small rodents while scouting the area around the cave, and he didn’t think it would be dangerous to wander just a little further today.

 

He needed to put his restless energy to use. He promised himself he wouldn’t be gone for more than thirty minutes, and he trotted up the trail.

 

Kirk wanted to explore further the area to the north west of their cave, drawn by the gentler incline and the lusher flora. The path the furry creature had trodden didn’t extend very far above the cave—the stubby-legged creature obviously preferred rocky hills to towering peaks—so Kirk had to make his own trail. He picked his way around dense shrubs and over outcrops of flinty bedrock, making steady progress.

 

He found a tall stick, and after knocking off any stray branches, decided he would use it as a walking stick and a weapon, if need be. He gave it an experimental swing, enjoying the _whoosh_ sound it made as it cut through the air, and then went on his way.

 

He had been walking for about five minutes when the climb became less steep and the vegetation thicker. The landscape was interspersed with stunted trees, some of them straight and yellow and others twisted and light green. Kirk was enjoying himself immensely, taking in deep lungfuls of the crisp air. He smiled to himself as he watched small, pale blue birds flutter wildly from tree to tree, swooping low to the ground and then up again in pursuit of each other.

 

He was just thinking how like Earth this place seemed, when a long, armored reptile sprang up from underneath a rock and launched itself at his legs. Its body undulated as it flew through the air, webbed limbs outstretched and fanged mouth wide open. Kirk threw himself off to the side, and the creature landed where he had been standing a moment before. It hissed at him with bared fangs and bobbed its snake-like head up and down.

 

The creature reminded him of a little dragon, fierce and menacing, and Kirk resolved to be more alert in the future. He waved his stick threateningly, and the reptile followed the movement with its head as Kirk slowly backed away.

 

“All right, little dragon, I’ll just be on my way. No harm done,” Kirk said under his breath. Luckily the reptile made no move to follow him.

 

After walking a few minutes more, treading more carefully now, he noticed a strip of vibrantly blue-green tufts of knee-height grass. Little round puffs of white flowers waved gently from the slender brown stems that rose out of the tufts, and Kirk realized the faintly sweet scent he had been smelling must be coming from here. As he moved closer to the grass he heard a faint gurgling and splashing. He quickened his pace, grinning from ear to ear when he came upon the stream.

 

It was not big—he could have jumped over it without getting his feet wet—and the water was cloudy with dirt and stirred up bits of debris. But the stream had a source and the source would surely be larger and cleaner.

 

The syrupy sweet smell of the white puff flowers and the gentle babble of the water at his feet lifted his spirits, and Kirk closed his eyes for a moment, the sun bathing him in mellow warmth.

 

He was just debating if he should follow the stream a little further or return to the cave when something cold seized him, icy tendrils piercing into his mind. Waves of panic rolled to the surface of his thoughts, and Kirk wondered if he had been too careless, if some dangerous predator was closing in on him.

 

Kirk kept his eyes closed and remained frozen in place, reaching out with his other senses instead. Something wasn’t right about this.

 

He realized he could smell some pungent alien scent, and could even hear the light footfalls of some creeping creature. Kirk opened his eyes, and though he saw nothing but waving grass and fluttering leaves, his anxiety continued to mount. He looked all around, eyes searching, but found nothing that could account for his anxiety. There was no predator here.

 

That’s when he understood that he wasn’t sensing anything directly. The strange odor and the soft noises were not coming from the place where he was. Someone else was experiencing these things.

 

Spock. Spock had made him aware of these things. Spock was calling out for him.

 

“No! Spock!“ Kirk’s face paled.

 

He turned and ran.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter up! As long as my health allows, I will try to be a bit quicker about posting in the future. =) Thank you for reading!

Kirk ran.

 

He tore down the mountain in little avalanches of gravel and dirt, the world around him becoming a blur. When he tumbled over a large boulder he simply rolled to his feet and kept going, only half-aware of the sharp, searing pain in his ankle. His mind was screaming, pleading, reaching out for Spock, and when he felt Spock desperately reach back the fear that Kirk might never again feel the touch of that mind momentarily shattered his reason.

 

“Spock!” he bellowed, hurtling past a familiar landmark and landing on the upper end of the cave-path. “SPOCK!”

 

He had not gone far, and now he was almost back. In fact, he recognized the rock formations ahead as the ones just above the cave. He hit them with pounding feet and leapt, landing hard in a jumble below the porch, his walking stick clattering to the ground a little further down the path. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he jumped up and limped over to retrieve his stick. He snatched it up and whirled to face the cave, eyes seeking out the source of Spock’s alarm.

 

There was an ear-splitting screech and then he saw it. Off to his right a large feline creature was crouching low and regarding him with slanted orange eyes. The cat arched its dark, scaly back as it crept around him, flicking its long tail in a whip-like motion. Kirk, still panting heavily, raised his stick and glared back at the cat, not daring to break eye contact for even a moment.

 

He realized that if the cat continued to circle around him it would soon be between him and the cave. Heart fluttering, he jumped forward with a short yell, swinging his stick at the cat. The cat jumped back with an angry swipe of its paw, and as Kirk moved toward the porch the cat began its circling again in the other direction. Kirk felt the stone of the ledge behind him, and just as he was about to ease himself up onto it, the cat attacked.

 

Kirk thrust the stick up between them and it caught the cat in the chest, breaking a lengthwise section of the stick off with a snap and ripping a furious howl out of the animal. With a lightning fast swing of a paw the cat tore through the fabric of Kirk’s pants, grazing his left thigh with its claws before it jumped away. The creature began to pace restlessly, kicking up small puffs of dust.

 

“Go! Get out of here, damn you!” Kirk yelled, swinging his stick so that cat retreated a few steps before creeping back again. Kirk considered getting the knife from his backpack, but quickly dismissed the thought because if he got close enough to this animal to use it then it wouldn’t do him much good.

 

The cat growled savagely and continued its pacing, but it didn’t seem willing to move any closer for the moment, so Kirk pressed the palm of his free hand on the porch and hopped up. The cat darted back with a furious snarl at the movement and charged at him. Kirk was ready and brought the stick down across the animal’s head. When it crumpled to the ground, stunned for a moment, he flung his arms up and landed another blow across the scaly back.

 

The cat, demented with rage, threw itself back in a somersault to spin around in tight circles. It yowled and clawed at the ground and the rocks, even latching onto its own tail for a moment in its fury. Kirk might have laughed if the creature’s anger hadn’t been so alarming, and the danger still so real.

 

The cat finally stilled, crouching low to the ground and foaming at the mouth, and for a few minutes that seemed to drag on into eternity, the two adversaries stared each other down.

 

Then Kirk heard it. Behind him in the cave Spock cried out, a pained sound full of fear and anger.

 

The cat heard it too.

 

Seeing those tufted ears prick up and the black tongue flick over the yellowed fangs, Kirk felt his own anger overtake him. He jumped from the porch with a bloodcurdling yell and brought the stick down on the cat with all of his strength. The cat screeched and tumbled backward down the path and Kirk rushed after it, brandishing his stick and letting forth a torrent of incoherent shouting.

 

For a moment the cat halted its retreat down the mountain to turn and eye Kirk hungrily, and he feared it might come back to fight him after all. Then Kirk stomped his feet and started forward with another piercing yell and the cat finally darted off, kicking up dirt and pebbles as it went.

 

For a few long minutes Kirk stood vigilant, wanting to be sure the creature would not come back, and then he turned and hobbled up the path to the cave. He stopped in the entrance and his blood ran cold when he saw large round footprints pressed into the fine sand just inside. The vicious creature had come far too close to Spock, who was still helpless in his healing trance at the rear of the cave.

 

Kirk’s noisy approach was probably the only thing that had stopped the cat from going any deeper into the cave. Kirk went to Spock, dropping down on his knees to examine him. Once he determined that Spock was unharmed—heavier breathing and a more flushed complexion the only sign that he had been disturbed—Kirk stepped back and pulled off his backpack.

 

“Spock, you could have been killed. I shouldn’t have left you. It wont happen again,” he said as he opened the backpack and pulled out the first aid supplies. He stood up and eased down his pants, cringing when the waistband scraped his thigh, and examined the scratches. They were not deep, but if he didn’t tend to them they would certainly become infected.

 

He had been lucky. The cat had never encountered a creature like Kirk, and its uncertainty was most likely the only thing that had kept it from overcoming him. He might not be so lucky next time.

 

When Kirk was done treating and bandaging his wound he noted that there were only two bandages left and hoped they wouldn’t have occasion to use them. He carefully pulled his pants back on and dropped to the ground. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he became keenly aware of his exhaustion and the throbbing of his ankle. He pulled off his boots and examined the ankle, hoping that once the mild swelling went down he would find that it was not too badly sprained.

 

He retrieved his knife from the backpack and pulled one of the blankets off of Spock. He examined it for a moment before cutting a slit near a corner and tearing a long strip off of it. He put his knife down and carefully wrapped the fabric snugly around and around his ankle, tucking the loose end securely under a couple of the top layers of his makeshift bandage. It wasn’t pretty, but the pressure of cloth cradling his foot was soothing.

 

Kirk jerked his head up when Spock moaned. He watched his face, looking for any sign of movement, but Spock remained still. Kirk’s eyes had just moved away when Spock moaned again, and this time the sound tapered off into a whimper that made Kirk’s heart clench.

 

Spock hadn’t made a sound throughout the healing trance, and now Kirk was almost certain he was ready to wake.

 

Kirk filled with both excitement and dread. What would happen when Spock woke? How would Spock behave? Would he try to force Kirk into a situation he couldn’t handle? He had to help Spock, whatever the risk to himself. He’d damn well be on the alert though.

 

For a few long minutes Kirk simply regarded Spock quietly, willing away his anxiety. When Spock moaned again Kirk rushed to his side and crouched over him.

 

“Spock! Come on, wake up now,” he said, giving him a sharp slap across the cheek. Spock made a small noise, but did not open his eyes. Kirk slapped him again, harder. Then again on the other cheek.

 

Spock’s cheeks flushed a rich green under the blows, but he did not wake. Kirk began to feel a fierce panic rising up in him. Spock’s physical injuries had not been too severe, and Kirk had begun to wonder at him staying so long in the trance. Was his mind so damaged that he simply wasn’t able to drag himself back into consciousness? A part of Kirk was surprised by the furious swelling of sheer desperation in him as he looked down at Spock’s still face.

 

Spock must wake up. Kirk _needed_ him.

 

“Come on, Spock, you’ve been asleep long enough!” Kirk said, voice tightly controlled despite the panic rippling through him.

 

Kirk cracked him across one side of his face, “Wake,” and then the other, “up!” until Spock’s hand flew up and caught his wrist in a vice-like grip.

 

Spock’s eyes were wide and his breathing was heavy, and for a long moment he just lay there, clutching Kirk’s wrist and drinking in the sight of the man above him. Kirk tried to make his face calm and confident, but his heart was pounding hard in his chest as he stared down at the sharp features of his friend. Finally Spock let him go, rolled over, and climbed to his feet. Kirk let out a long breath and stood up to face him.

 

Spock turned and surveyed his surroundings. His inspection halted as he spotted the paw prints in the dirt, and he dashed out of the cave. He popped back in a moment later and strode right up to Kirk. He ran his hands over Kirk’s arms and across his chest, and dropping to his knees, over Kirk’s legs. Spock found the rips in Kirk’s pants and reached his fingers in, feeling the edges of the bandage that covered the wound on Kirk’s thigh.

 

He pressed his face against the injured thigh, wrapping his arms around Kirk’s legs. A low rumble came from his chest.

 

For a moment Kirk felt dizzy, and he realized he was sensing a warmth of affection and stab of worry that was not coming from his own mind.

 

“Spock. It’s okay. I’m okay. Get up,” he soothed, reaching down to grasp Spock’s shoulders. He gave a tug and Spock obediently rose to his feet, his brown eyes shining with unvoiced emotions.

 

“It’s okay. Come on, you need to eat something,” Kirk said, jumping at the opportunity to step away from the overwhelming presence in front of him.

 

Spock followed him and sat down near Kirk as he rummaged through their supplies. Kirk pulled out a bottle of water, and after brief deliberation, a pink box. Kirk hoped the contents wouldn’t be offensive to the Vulcan’s palate. He handed Spock the water and as Spock greedily gulped it down, he opened the box and then tore open the bag inside. It was filled with what looked like dried pieces of fruit.

 

“Here, eat this. Most of this stuff is pretty good, but whatever you do, don’t eat the paste in the yellow packet. The last thing I need is a hyperactive Vulcan bouncing off these cave walls.”

 

He watched as Spock plucked a shriveled purple lump out of the bag and sniffed it curiously. He looked pointedly at Kirk and then popped the fruit into his mouth, as if to say: _I will eat this strange shriveled thing because you gave it to me and I trust you._

 

Kirk chuckled when Spock’s eyebrows shot up and he reached into the bag for more.

 

“Good,” Kirk said, crossing his arms across his chest and beaming at Spock. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

When Kirk started to move away Spock immediately stopped eating, his body becoming rigid and his eyes going wide in trepidation. Spock remained perfectly still, watching Kirk’s movements with an eerie intensity.

 

Kirk sighed and sat down once he realized the reason for Spock’s distress.

 

Spock needed him near. Kirk had been eager to put some space between them because he found that, despite his legitimate concerns about Spock’s mental state, he had a strong desire to be near him as well. The strength of this desire unsettled him, but he did not want to cause Spock unnecessary stress because of his own confusion, and he stayed put.

 

Spock quickly polished off the bag of fruit, watching Kirk as he ate with that same unwavering gaze. Kirk watched him right back, refusing to let himself drown in the river of uncertainty that was flowing through him.

 

When Spock was finished, he got up and dropped the bag into the small pile in the corner where he had seen Kirk put the empty box, and then he went to Kirk. Spock sat down next to him, leaning slightly against his arm. He seemed to press forward with a covetous solicitude while at the same time reigning in some primal and utterly devastating force within himself, as though he feared to harm his companion.

 

And Spock could cause him grievous harm if he chose to, Kirk admitted dolefully to himself.

 

Still, the brown eyes watching him now were disarming in their openness. He had never seen such a look in those eyes before. Not when Spock had come back from Psi 2000 and had broken down, and not on Omicron Ceti III after the spores had freed him from inhibition. This was more than just a release of repressed emotions due to the breaking down of some barriers. It was as if Kirk was gazing straight into the core of Spock’s being, as if Spock had been reduced to his most basic elements, everything else stripped away.

 

That there was a place for Kirk there in Spock’s center, that Kirk seemed to be a vital element necessary for Spock’s completion took his breath away as he gazed into those vulnerable eyes. He felt that he should say or do something, and wished that he could reciprocate some of the feeling that was roiling in the being beside him. But, unfortunately, his sudden understanding of Spock’s mental state had done nothing to dispel his confusion regarding his own state of mind.

 

Kirk was about to open his mouth to speak when Spock suddenly leaned forward, his cheek brushing Kirk’s shoulder as he pressed his face into Kirk’s chest and sniffed loudly. Spock sat back and crinkled his nose as he continued to stare at Kirk’s gore-stained shirt.

 

Kirk blinked rapidly a few times and then burst out laughing. Spock jumped a little, then cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. Kirk laughed harder, delighted by the familiar facial expression.

 

Once he had his mirth under control, he gave Spock a mock-scowl. “Well, you don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of Coridan lilies yourself, Mr. Spock.”

 

With this exchange, Kirk decided on the next order of business. They would go out together to the stream Kirk had discovered that morning, and they would follow it to its source. The thought of being able to immerse himself in cool water and scrub away the grime that had accumulated on his skin and clothes invigorated Kirk.

 

His determination to set into motion his quickly condensing plans regarding cleanliness was squelched when he turned to see Spock watching him with those guileless eyes. Spock had nearly died today because of Kirk’s carelessness, and he would not endanger him again.

 

If they were going to trek through the wilderness then they would have to be better prepared. They would need weapons with which to protect themselves—and Kirk’s ankle needed to rest, he decided when he stood up to get his walking stick and felt a sharp stab of pain—and one little knife would not be sufficient. He retrieved what had been his walking stick, scooped up his knife, and then turned to Spock, who was watching him curiously.

 

“This is not as long as I’d like for a spear, but it will have to do for now because we’re not going out there without protection,” Kirk said, half to himself and half to the puzzled Vulcan.

 

Though the violence of whatever had happened to Spock’s complex mind seemed to have stripped him of the ability to verbally communicate, Spock still seemed to respond to the sound of Kirk’s voice. It comforted Kirk to be able to talk to him, even if it was only the tone of his voice that reached past the fractured framework of Spock’s mind to touch his undamaged core.

 

“I’m not going to do this in here, though. It’ll be messy and you could probably use some fresh air,” Kirk said, having no doubt that Spock would follow him out onto the porch. He picked up and tugged on the discarded boot, pleased to note that it slid on without too much resistance, and gingerly tested his weight on the ankle before walking out onto the ledge.

 

Spock did follow him out, stepping in front of Kirk and giving him a look that clearly conveyed his intent to keep Kirk from going a step further. For a moment Kirk was chafed by the reminder that Spock had the superior strength to back up his will should he and Kirk clash, and he had the urge to knock Spock out of his way.

 

In the end he swallowed his pride, accepted Spock’s over-protectiveness, and sat down on the ledge with a sigh. He hadn’t intended to leave the porch anyway, so he saw no point in butting heads with a possessive Vulcan over something so trivial. Not at the moment, anyway.

 

Kirk had stifled the indignation that had flared up in him and was surprised when Spock crouched down near him but not touching him, looking almost contrite, his head bowed and his brow slightly furrowed. Kirk wondered if Spock had sensed everything he’d been feeling through the bond they now shared, and he found this thought comforting. Despite Spock’s savage behavior he obviously cared for Kirk, and Kirk was glad to know that he could still reach Spock and affect him through their link.

 

Giving Spock a quick, reassuring smile, he went to work, adjusting the stone knife in his hand and scraping away at the tip of the stick across his lap. The stick was already quite narrow on the end that had broken, but Kirk whittled away until the tip was a sharp point.

 

Kirk turned to look at Spock every so often as he worked, and each time was mildly startled by the hardness of Spock’s features as he kept watch, scanning the hillside with a hawk-like gaze. He did, in fact, remind Kirk of a bird of prey, fierce eyes glinting as he sat crouched on his heels, his arms neatly folded across his knees. Kirk felt a strange warmth spread through him when he saw those fierce eyes turn on him and soften in acknowledgement of his scrutiny. He pulled his attention back to his spear, his thoughts twisting into a tangle of conflicting emotions that he could not make sense of.

 

After some time had passed, Kirk set down his knife and considered the finished spear. It was short, but it was straight and tapered off into a sharp point. If that scaly feline threw itself on the stick now it would be in for an unpleasant surprise.

 

Kirk turned to Spock, holding up the spear.

 

“Here, I want you to have this one. I’ll make another one as soon as I find a suitable branch. Which I’d like to do right now, actually.” He pushed the spear into Spock’s hand. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”

 

Spock looked between Kirk and the spear, his confusion evident. Kirk pursed his lips and then forced a smile. He wasn’t looking forward to this next part.

 

When Kirk had been getting rid of the carcass of the beast Spock had killed, he’d noticed a small copse of trees surrounded by brush and littered with vines and branches of various sizes. He had wanted to rest his ankle as much as possible, but if he could manage the reasonably short trip down the hillside he might be able to find another branch that was suitable for a spear.

 

If Spock allowed it.

 

He grew frustrated at the thought. He understood that the incident with the feline predator had stirred up Spock’s protective instincts, but they couldn’t stay cooped up in the cave. And Kirk didn’t want a battle of wills every time he decided to go venture out and do something.

 

Spock was watching Kirk in silence, his face growing more apprehensive by the moment.

 

“Damn it, I’m going. You can come with me if you want, Spock, but I’m going,” Kirk firmly stated, standing up and dusting himself off.

 

Spock stood up at the same time, moving toward Kirk, one hand lifted a little as if he meant to catch Kirk’s arm. They both stood still for a moment, and when Kirk began to take a step Spock’s hand shot out to grab him. Kirk was ready though, and he smacked Spock’s hand away, none too gently. He took a small step forward, staring fixedly into the startled brown eyes.

 

“Don’t,” he warned. Kirk’s heart was pounding, but he steeled himself against his uneasiness, projecting certainty and determination. He propelled the mental force of his will against Spock, and relaxed a little when the Vulcan shrank back from him, looking defeated.

 

With what could have been a more serious confrontation averted Kirk immediately softened, guilt flashing through him for a moment at the dejection in every drooping line of Spock’s body. After their first night in the cave and the forced meld, Kirk had known it would take a lot for Spock to earn back his trust, but it was becoming clear that Spock would respect any boundaries Kirk set—as long as he did so firmly.

 

Perhaps the healing trance had improved the state of his mind, as he seemed more subdued than before. Then again, there were currently no enemies present for him to tear apart.

 

Kirk sighed and reached out a hand to Spock. “Come on, Spock. Come with me. I could use your help.” He lifted his foot up to indicate the sprained ankle, knowing Spock had noticed him limping, and then nodded his head toward the path that wound down the slope. He lifted his arm up toward Spock’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 

Spock was at his side in an instant, looking somber and resigned, and he slung an arm around Kirk’s waist.

 

With Spock’s help he made it down the trail while managing to keep most of his weight off the sore ankle. When they reached the copse of trees Kirk immediately began to root around in the underbrush.

 

After watching him pick up and then discard several branches Spock began to search as well, bringing Kirk some of the branches he found. He still had the spear Kirk had given him clutched in one hand, and seemed to understand what Kirk was looking for. But most of the branches he brought were too short or not as straight as Kirk would like, and he shook his head and continued his own search.

 

Kirk stood up and tossed away a too-brittle stick and impatiently whirled around only to nearly crash into Spock. Spock offered him another branch, face almost child-like with hope, and Kirk bit down on a chuckle, lips twitching.

 

“Sorry, no, that’s not what I’m looking for. The thickness isn’t right,” he said. Noticing the wistful way Spock gazed past him up at their cave, he added “Don’t worry, if I can’t find something workable soon we’ll head back. I’m getting hungry, anyway.”

 

They went back to searching, and a little while later, after straying farther down the hill, Kirk finally popped up with a triumphant “Ah ha!”

 

He held up the long, sturdy branch and then gave it an experimental wack across the trunk of a large tree. Using his feet and hands he broke off all of the smaller branches until only nubs remained, and then waved the stick at Spock.

 

“It’s not perfectly straight, but it’ll work. Come on, lets head back,” he said, limping toward Spock. His ankle was aching and his stomach was twisting with hunger, and now that his mission was accomplished he was eager to get back. Spock let out a huffing sound that sounded very much like a sigh of relief. He wrapped an arm almost tenderly around Kirk and led him to the path.

 

Going back up the slope took longer, and with the sun beating down on them, Kirk began to sweat and pant for air in the midday heat. Nghia’s days may have been shorter but his day had been full and eventful so far. He felt exhausted and was seriously considering taking a nap when they got back.

 

Once they settled down in the cool of the cave Kirk opened two boxes from their food cache. After handing one of the bags to Spock, he began to eagerly devour the contents of his own bag. There wasn’t much left of their food supplies and the little he had been eating had left him with the constant pull of hunger inside him. He was eager for a more hearty meal, and with their spears they might be able to hunt to supplement their diet.

 

After Kirk finished eating he drank from one of the bottles, noting that their water was running low as well. When he had cleaned up after himself he went back out onto the porch with his knife and the new stick in his hands. Spock made no move to stop him this time, but followed him out and took up his vigil again at Kirk’s side. He seemed more at ease now, sprawling out with feline dignity instead of perching stiffly on his heels.

 

Kirk made himself comfortable and started to shave away at one end of the stick. After a while, he wiped absently at his damp forehead with the back of his hand, and glanced over at Spock. Spock hadn’t moved at all since sitting down, except to flick his eyes back and forth as he scanned the hillside for any sign of danger.

 

They had both taken their shirts off, and Kirk drank in the sight of the long legs, trim hairy chest, and the toned arms propping Spock up. Spock was all wiry strength and sharp angles, and he exuded boundless strength and vigor that would have set Kirk burning with envy were he not so fit and vigorous himself.

 

It was easy to see why so many women—and men, Kirk acknowledged—lusted after the Vulcan. He was strong, intelligent, exotic, and a fiercely loyal friend to anyone who managed to get close to him. But was Kirk attracted to him? It was one thing to admire a man’s beauty but another thing entirely to desire him.

 

If Kirk was honest with himself there was some part of him that wanted to reach out and touch Spock, that craved contact with him, but he still couldn’t decide how intimate he’d want that contact to be. When Spock had slung his arm around Kirk to help him up the hill Kirk had taken definite pleasure in their closeness, buoyed by the affection that he felt in that touch.

 

Once again he had to wonder if his feelings were being caused by the link, or if they were merely enhanced by it.

 

Kirk was jolted out of his thoughts by the realization that Spock had turned his head and was watching him, his muscles seeming to bunch as if he had meant to move but froze suddenly. Kirk quickly turned away, dismayed that he had been caught staring, and suppressed the uncertainty he seemed to feel so often now in Spock’s presence.

 

Kirk took his time with the spear, knowing there wasn’t much else to do, and it was a pleasant enough distraction. An hour or so later he finally set his new spear aside with a satisfied sigh, and stood to stretch himself. He knew there was a way to harden spear tips using fire, but even if he could get a good blaze going, he was still nervous about drawing attention to their location, and the cave’s interior would not allow for adequate ventilation. Still, it was good enough.

 

Out of sheer boredom Kirk finally retired to the cave and spread himself out on their blankets to take a nap. Spock remained outside, still keeping watch, no doubt, and Kirk drifted off.

 

He didn’t sleep long and woke with nightmarish images still fresh in his mind, his blood rushing and his skin prickling. The sight of Spock crouched near the cave entrance soothed Kirk and the nightmare quickly faded from his mind. Feeling the need to be up, he made his way out onto the ledge.

 

Spock seemed more relaxed, reclining languidly against the rock, his eyes blinking lazily as he gazed out at the horizon.

 

By the time the sun began to set Kirk was more than ready for the day to be over. He hoped that his ankle would be strong enough for him to travel the next day. Hell, he didn’t care if he had limp up the side of the mountain, he wasn’t spending another day cooped up in their cave.

 

Kirk sat on the porch, his legs hanging over the edge, and let the toes of his boots drag restlessly through the dirt. The sky was a rich shade of violet where the sun had gone down behind the mountain, but ahead over the hills the sky was darker, and he could make out the faint twinkling of stars. His eyes drifted down, taking in the distant glow the capital city cast out at the darkening sky. The orange aura gave the appearance of a warm, safe place, but Kirk knew that the metropolis below was full of death, ravaged by the war that had been forced upon its peaceful people.

 

He wondered if any of the Nghians in the city had survived the initial attack and how many of the other cities of this world had been bombarded in the same manner. He gripped his arms and shuddered, only partially from the cold.

 

Kirk turned and looked up when he saw something bright at the edge of his vision, far above the hills. His stomach dropped, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. Something like a large comet was cutting a path of dazzling fire across the sky. He knew instantly by the abundance of flaming debris that broke off and trailed behind it, drifting toward the planet’s surface in a shimmer of sparks, that it was not a comet. It was a spacecraft breaking up as it entered the atmosphere.

 

War. His mind cried the word and his heart ached.

 

How many people’s lives had just ended there in the sky above him? How many more would die before all of this was over? He watched the fiery wreck until it disappeared on the horizon, the sky flaring briefly with white light where it went down. Kirk’s eyes darkened and he drooped forward under the weight of the sudden weariness of his soul.

 

Kirk shrank away for a second when a cool arm slid around him and wrapped across his chest, pulling a blanket along with it. He had known Spock was sitting just outside the cave entrance, but he hadn’t heard him approach or crouch down at his back. Spock settled in behind him, adjusted the blanket over them, and pulled the human into the low heat of his embrace. Spock pressed his face to Kirk’s shoulder and seemed to melt into him, making low, soothing sounds in his chest, a rhythmic humming.

 

Kirk sat very still for a moment, until the undeniable pleasure of the gentle, encompassing contact began to scatter all of his heavy thoughts. Kirk sighed and leaned back into the Vulcan. He reached up a hand and clasped one of Spock’s wrists through the blanket, squeezing until it must have pained him, his eyes shut tight against the world around them. His focus was quickly narrowing down so that all he knew was the pleasing pressure against his back and the satisfying stroking of slender fingers.

 

He almost gasped as something seemed to flare to life inside him, his mind filling with Spock’s presence, his body flooding with heat and…

 

He could not name it.

 

A little startled by the onslaught of sensations and emotions, both his and Spock’s, he made an effort to reign himself in, calming his mind.

 

How was it that it felt so natural to be in Spock’s arms? How was it that he, a man who had a very deep appreciation for the female form, suddenly felt so comfortable pressed up against the lean but very firm and muscular body of his male first officer? Would he still feel this way when the link was dissolved? And the link would have to be dissolved.

 

Spock, seeming to sense his inner turbulence, held him tighter and Kirk made an effort to blank his mind, projecting affection and reassurance into the link. Spock’s arms loosened a little, and Kirk smiled to himself.

 

They sat for some time like that, curled up together, until night had completely fallen, and then  Spock climbed to his feet to lead Kirk back into the cave. Kirk found the lantern in the dark and turned it on. He watched Spock gather the blankets together and crawl beneath them, reaching an arm out to Kirk, his eyes warm with the silent request for Kirk’s company.

 

Kirk sighed. He had slept next to Spock the night before, but it was different now that Spock was awake.

 

Or was it? They needed each other’s warmth to get through the cold night, so why was he reluctant? Kirk suddenly felt foolish. Coming to a decision, he went to Spock. He briefly considered taking off his boots, but then opted to keep them on as added protection against the cold, and he set the lantern down near them.

 

He switched off the light and laid himself out against Spock, and two strong arms immediately went around him, pulling them more firmly together. With his head nestled on Spock’s chest, Kirk considered that they didn’t necessarily need to wrap around each other quite so tight. But then the link buzzed with warmth and contentment, and he allowed himself to be pulled down into the sweet, dreamless sleep that he only knew when he was next to Spock.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My art for this story can be found [here](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/100623309436/feral-spock-for-my-story-undone).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is squeamish, there is a scene a little less than a third of the way in describing the process of skinning an animal for food. If you ever have any questions about chapter warnings feel free to contact me: ra.amok at gmail.com

_Nghians screamed silently, minds twisting. The flash of a weapon firing. Flowing blood. Cracked skulls, shattered bones. Death._

Kirk burst into the waking world with the nightmare still nipping at his heels. He sat up gasping, alarmed to find himself alone in the cave. The blankets were tangled around his legs as if he had been kicking out with his feet, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow.

 

He was about to call out for Spock when he heard the pounding of rapid footsteps and the clatter of small stones on the ledge. A moment later Spock rushed into the cave, a dark silhouette lined with flaring sunlight, a perfect vision of raw Vulcan power. He seemed frozen there for a moment, dust billowing at his feet, chest heaving and eyes glinting with a fierce light. Then the vision shattered and Spock was crouched down at his side, face twisted with worry.

 

Spock’s hands ran over Kirk's shoulders, pulling him up. His hands clasped the sides of Kirk’s face, the dark brown eyes frantically searching his.

 

“It’s okay, Spock. I had a bad dream, that’s all. I’m fine,” Kirk reassured him, touched by his distress.

 

Part of him thought that it should have been awkward having Spock’s hands hold him with such tender reverence, but instead he found it comforting, his skin tingling pleasantly and his mind buzzing with affection. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around Spock’s forearms and was about to pull Spock’s arms down, when something in the Vulcan’s expression stopped him.

 

Spock was staring intently into his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. Kirk was beginning to feel uncomfortable, trapped there in Spock’s grip, their eyes locked together, but then Spock’s face relaxed and his mouth fell open.

 

“Jim,” he said, his deep voice clear and sure.

 

Kirk grinned broadly and shook Spock’s arms so hard in his excitement that the strong hands finally fell away from his face. He moved his hands to Spock’s shoulders, gripping him tightly, and laughed with delight.

 

“Yes, Spock! Yes! You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” Kirk blurted out in a rush. “Talk to me.”

 

Kirk’s heart sank a little as Spock continued to watch him with those steady eyes, his expression unchanged.

 

Maybe he still had a long way to go, but it made Kirk hopeful that Spock was speaking again, even if it was only a name. _His_ name. It was not lost on him that Spock understood and spoke Kirk’s name while making no other attempts to verbally communicate. Spock responded to the sound of his own name with the same attention he gave to any other word Kirk uttered. Kirk felt flattered and overwhelmed.

 

Spock, showing no other signs of wanting to speak and seemingly satisfied that Kirk was well, nodded once and strode back outside. Kirk blinked, feeling a little bewildered.

 

“Jim,” he heard Spock call out.

 

Curiosity aroused, Kirk walked out onto the ledge.

 

He stared dumbly, blinking at the sight before him. Spock was standing on the path in front of the ledge and clutched in his raised hand was a furry animal with long hind legs and a thick tail. It was built somewhat like a kangaroo but only a little larger than a rabbit, and a small head with a blunt snout was dangling at an odd angle on its broken neck. Spock nodded at Kirk and lifted the limp creature a little higher, offering it to Kirk with what could only be described as a self-congratulatory expression on his face.

 

That explained why Spock hadn’t been in the cave when he woke up, Kirk realized. He must have heard this animal and crept out to stalk and kill the unsuspecting creature.

 

Kirk, despite being a little leery at the idea of preparing this animal as food, was excited by the prospect of eating something beside their boxed rations. When he had gone to bed the night before his stomach had been twisting with a hunger that he’d valiantly ignored in favor of sleep. He wondered now if Spock had been aware of it. As if on cue, his stomach grumbled loudly, prompting a raised eyebrow from Spock. Kirk chuckled sheepishly.

 

After examining the animal a few moments longer, Kirk realized that Spock was still holding the creature up and watching him expectantly. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and took it.

 

“Well done, Spock!” Kirk said with an impressed raise of his eyebrows, before murmuring to himself, “Now I just need to figure out what to do with it.”

 

He decided the first order of business was getting a fire started.

 

When Kirk had stopped at the abandoned house he had grabbed many small items that he thought they might be able use at some point if they remained isolated in the mountains. The house had been secluded, obviously the retreat of someone with an appreciation for nature. He had found several useful items, and had brought along a few other things he thought they might be able to find a use for later.

 

Leaving the animal on the edge of the porch, he went back in the cave and dug through the pack, grinning when he found what he wanted. He didn’t have a magnifying glass, but the lens from the binoculars he’d brought would work just as well. He was still patting himself on the back when he realized that the lenses of this sleek and well-constructed device did not simply screw off.

 

He crouched down and struggled for several minutes, pulling, twisting, and digging his nails into the hard shell before he huffed and let himself fall heavily onto his rump on the porch. Spock had moved close to him, watching him curiously, and Kirk resisted the urge to grumble to himself. He struggled for a moment with his pride and then decided to suck it up and do the logical thing. He hated to let Spock take care of anything he could do for himself, but this was one of those times when Spock’s superior strength was what was needed.

 

He held up the binoculars and tapped a clear, shining lens with the pad of a finger. “I need to get this out. Could you…?”

 

He handed the binoculars over and was pleased when Spock handled them delicately, even while applying his significant strength. He had obviously reasoned that if Kirk wanted the device broken he would have simply used a rock for that purpose. Kirk heard a sharp pop and the compartment that housed the lenses lifted under Spock’s long fingers.

 

“Thanks,” Kirk said, letting his smile reach his eyes as he retrieved one round lens with a tug. He took the binoculars and returned them to the pack before trotting down the trail to get everything else he would need.

 

Kirk noticed the shift in Spock’s behavior while he was gathering dried grass and plant fluff for tinder. He was already used to Spock hovering over him, but this was different. Seeing what Kirk was after, Spock separated from him to gather up an unnecessarily large quantity of grasses and practically herded Kirk back to the cave.

 

When Kirk went back out again to search for firewood Spock once again observed what Kirk was gathering and quickly collected a supply of wood, tucking the bundle of sticks and log fragments under one arm. Kirk noticed that Spock seemed determined to place himself so that Kirk was always between him and the cave, and he kept casting watchful glances down the hill as they made their way back up the path.

 

Something was making Spock uneasy.

 

Kirk got the fire started quickly enough, and left Spock to tend to it while he went to the cave and picked up the animal Spock had caught. He retrieved his knife and meandered uphill until he found a relatively flat rock surface to work on. Spock watched him from below with dark, unblinking eyes, occasionally adding another stick to the small fire.

 

Kirk tried not to let that steady gaze unnerve him as he got to work.

 

Kirk had grown up loving nature and had caught, cleaned, and cooked fish while on camping trips, so preparing his own food was not completely new to him. When he was younger he had watched one of his neighbors back in Iowa skin and cut up a rabbit. At the time it had been somewhat disturbing, and his young stomach had turned at the sight. But he reflected back on it now, hoping his memory of the process would help him prepare this strange alien animal to be cooked.

 

Kirk rolled up his sleeves and began to skin the animal, starting with its hind legs and working his way down. His knife was sharp and slid easily through the skin, and the furry hide peeled away with some firm tugging. When the skin was bunched up by the animal’s head he sawed at the neck, stopping to turn his face away and take a few steadying breaths. Once the head was severed, taking the fur with it, the carcass was slick and hairless.

 

Kirk closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out slowly.

 

Hearing the crunch of gravel, he turned to see that Spock had come up to join him. Kirk gave him a weak smile that grew wider when Spock gave him a mystified look, both of his slanted eyebrows rising up toward his hairline at the sight of what Kirk was doing.

 

Kirk cut a slit in the belly of the animal, careful not to pierce the entrails, and reached a tentative hand into the abdominal cavity.

 

“Oooh. That’s just…ugh,” he groaned. It was one thing to eat meat and another thing entirely to prepare that meat to be eaten. For a moment he completely understood why Vulcans were vegetarians.

 

Kirk used half a container of water to wash off his hands and the other half to clean the carcass so that it was ready for the fire, and then he set off to find sticks that would be suitable for making a spit to cook the meat. Once again, Spock followed after him, still gazing down the mountain, and Kirk picked up his pace, beginning to feel unsettled by Spock’s watchful behavior.

 

Once the animal was cooking over the fire, fat sizzling and a meaty odor filling the air, Kirk sat down with a sigh, rubbing at his sore ankle. Once Spock saw that Kirk had settled down he began to restlessly inspect the surrounding area.

 

“Spock. Sit down. You’re making me nervous,” Kirk finally snapped, startling Spock from his slow pacing. Spock jumped and looked at him in surprise, obviously unsure of what to do. His agitation was bleeding through their link and Kirk was starting to feel as if something was on the verge of going terribly wrong. The sky was clear and blue and the air crisp, but Spock’s edgy demeanor was filling him with a dark foreboding.

 

He patted the rock he was seated on. “Sit.”

 

Spock glanced around with a positively seething look, as though daring whatever misfortune he seemed to feel was imminent to manifest itself. After a few long moments, he settled down next to Kirk, and they sat thigh to thigh as they stared into the fire. Spock had taken off his shirt, and with his messy hair and glowering eyes he looked more like the monster who had ripped apart aliens in the city than the friend Kirk hoped was slowly coming back to him. He had stopped staring down the mountain, at least, and the press of his leg was comforting.

 

Spock’s calm didn’t last. By the time Kirk decided the meat was done cooking, Spock was up and pacing again, so agitated that Kirk began to feel the first stirrings of real fear. Something was happening that had Spock worried, and it frustrated Kirk to no end that Spock couldn’t communicate the source of his distress.

 

There was nothing he could do but wait and be vigilant.

 

Kirk began to pick at the meat, hissing when it burned his fingers, and popped a small bite in his mouth. It tasted bland, but not unpleasant, and Kirk pulled off a strip of it and offered it to Spock. To Kirk’s surprise the Vulcan stopped his pacing and approached Kirk, taking the offering. He ate it, showing no sign that eating meat after a lifetime of vegetarianism was unpleasant for him.

 

Kirk thought it was probably for the best, as their food options were somewhat limited. He pulled off a meaty hind leg and handed it to Spock. Kirk was pleased in an almost maternal way when Spock quickly cleaned the bone of meat. It was good to feel as if he was taking care of Spock, instead of the other way around.

 

When they had picked the bones clean, Kirk discarded the remains of their meal and began to kick dirt onto the fire to smother it. He was pointedly ignoring Spock’s erratic behavior now. Kirk was sure that at some point the tension would cause Spock to snap, and he hoped he would be able to handle the fallout.

 

When Spock did snap, it was in a much quieter manner than Kirk had been expecting, and that in itself was alarming.

 

“Jim.” It was nearly a whisper and Kirk felt the hairs rise up on the back of his neck as Spock turned to him and then went unnaturally still.

 

Kirk had only a moment to take in his wide-eyed yet menacing look before Spock whirled and headed for the cave at a dead run. Kirk followed, cutting through the trail of dust Spock had stirred up. He reached the cave entrance just as Spock turned and thrust Kirk’s pack at him from inside. Spock grabbed the other bag in one hand after hurriedly shoving his shirt into it, and slung the strap over his shoulder. He caught up the spears Kirk had made before bursting through the cave entrance, and with a fiery-eyed glance at Kirk, he headed back up the hill.

 

“Spock!” Kirk called out. “Spock, wait!”

 

Spock dropped the spears and turned, advancing on him like a predator. Kirk didn’t have time to utter another word before the Vulcan had Kirk’s arm gripped painfully tight in one hand and the other hand pressed firmly over Kirk’s mouth. Kirk let out an angry grunt and tried to jerk away, but Spock held him still, his eyes suddenly black and dangerous.

 

It was then that Kirk heard it, and his heart skipped a beat at the sound. From somewhere down the path, and getting closer by the moment, came the voices of Cadoans.

 

He reminded himself, not for the first time since they had isolated themselves in the Nghian wilderness, that this was a planet at war.

 

Seeing that Kirk understood, Spock released his arm and caught his wrist in a firm hold. He pulled Kirk along at a quick trot, hardly slowing his pace as he swooped down to pick up the dropped spears. He didn’t seem to have a destination in mind, intent only on moving further up the mountain and away from the approaching aliens.

 

For a moment Kirk wondered at the fact that Spock hadn’t simply gone after them in an attempt to kill them as he had done before. But he realized that on the side of their rocky hill, with only the cave and the occasional outcropping of rock for cover, they would have been easy targets for the Cadoans and their weapons. Spock was trying to keep him safe by retreating rather than fighting as Kirk sensed he wanted to do.

 

When they reached a line of trees and entered a more heavily wooded area, Spock seemed to relax somewhat. He released his hold on Kirk’s wrist, though he did not slow his pace.

 

It had been Kirk’s intention to leave the cave today anyway in order to search out the source of the stream, but he would have a preferred a more relaxed departure. Still, he was grateful that Spock had been so alert, because he himself might not have been aware of the approaching aliens until it was too late.

 

He gazed fondly at his friend, noting the pinched expression and tense muscles, and longed to comfort him somehow. The reminder of just how dangerous their situation still was had him yearning anew for the safety of his ship.

 

He wished more than anything at this moment that he was safely enclosed in his quarters aboard the _Enterprise_. There he could finally let down all of his defenses and begin to sort through the thoughts and feelings that had become such a jumbled mess in his mind. He wanted to be in control, to be the captain again. Maybe at that time he would feel strong enough to tackle the quandary that was Spock.

 

And that’s what Spock had become to him, wasn’t it? A dilemma, a puzzle that needed to be solved. Kirk was certain that even if Spock became well again and resumed his duties as first officer, things would be irrevocably changed between them. And that would have to be dealt with.

 

Kirk had fallen a little behind, but a few long strides brought him even with Spock. He clasped Spock’s bare shoulder and turned him, stopping him in his tracks. “Hey, let’s head this way. I found a stream yesterday, and we’ll be needing fresh water.”

 

He took his spear out of Spock’s hand and pointed to the northwest and was relieved when Spock veered off in that direction without so much as a questioning look. When Kirk’s hand had been on Spock’s shoulder he’d felt the Vulcan’s anxiety bleeding through the link more strongly, but it seemed to be slowly dissipating. At least it was no longer pouring into him in disquieting waves.

 

Kirk glanced back the way they had come at the silent, still woods and followed after Spock. He used his spear as a walking stick, steadying himself on uneven ground and taking weight off of his ankle when he could. Spock had attached his own spear to his bag using a small strap, and it jutted out behind him as he walked, leaving his hands free.

 

When they reached the stream a few minutes later, Spock turned without a sound and followed alongside it, not pausing even for a moment. His worry might have eased but he seemed hell-bent on putting as much distance between themselves and the aliens as possible.

 

Kirk wondered what the Cadoans were doing so far into the wilderness. Were they searching for stray Nhgians who had escaped into the mountains? Or were they specifically searching for him and Spock, perhaps feeling threatened and angry because of the Cadoans Spock had so easily slaughtered in the city? If it was Spock and him they were after then they would most likely continue to track them. Kirk was sure they could handle a couple of Cadoans, but if the aliens cornered them and called for help, they’d be out of luck.

 

Kirk wondered what a second exposure to the Cadoan weapon would do to Spock’s mind, and a shudder went through him. That must not happen.

 

He gazed up ahead and hoped they’d find a comfortable place to set up camp until the _Enterprise_ returned. He knew that with Cadoans on their trail they really shouldn’t stay in one place for too long, and this thought made Kirk feel tired. There would be no real rest for them until they were rescued.

 

Not one to waste too much time or energy feeling sorry for himself, Kirk did his best to clear his mind and he soldiered on, their ceaseless march carrying them through densely wooded slopes of tall, coniferous trees. The trees were covered with a flaking, rust-colored bark and when Kirk picked up a fallen branch he noticed that the needle-like leaves were almost turquoise at the root and faded into a deep blue-green at the tip.

 

The forest floor was carpeted by low, fern-like plants with yellowish leaves and brown stems that rustled as small, lightning fast reptiles darted over and around them.

 

The stream babbled cheerfully next to them, and Kirk considered encouraging Spock to stop so that he could sit beside it and rest. But Spock seemed unwilling to slow his dogged stride, glaring impatiently over his shoulder whenever Kirk started to fall too far behind.

 

Strange undulating howls and sharp trills echoed through the air, and Kirk found himself gazing up at the treetops and all around them in an attempt to identify the source of the cries. His eyes found no signs of life, except for the movements of the little creatures that scurried around the ferns. The odd wailings did not seem to disturb Spock, so Kirk gradually allowed himself to relax into their hike, his mind going blissfully blank and his feet carrying him upward without thought.

 

Hours passed, it seemed, their monotonous movements broken only when they reached a rockier incline and had to carefully pick their way upward over sliding gravel and exposed tree roots. They had wandered a small distance from the stream as the rocks banking it rose higher and became too treacherous to navigate, and as the terrain grew steeper they more often found shifting stone beneath their feet instead of dirt.

 

Kirk stopped when he realized that Spock was standing still atop a boulder, scouting the area ahead. He seemed indecisive for a moment, but finally moved slightly eastward—and further from the stream—where the stone wasn’t so broken and jagged. Kirk clambered up after him, occasionally grasping at the squat little trees nestled between the boulders.

 

With the afternoon sun glaring down on him, Kirk began to feel dizzy, and his ankle was starting to throb as he picked his way up their rugged path. Beneath his feet the stone was split with deep cracks, some of them wide and stretching down into total darkness, as though the mountainside had once buckled and fractured from some violent inner force. He wondered if the area was geologically unstable and wistfully imagined the observations Spock would have made if he was in his right mind.

 

Kirk’s foot slipped sideways on the brink of a small fissure and he let himself fall, catching himself with his hands against the ground rather than wrenching his ankle by trying to remain upright. With the climb becoming steeper and the terrain more uneven, they would have to be careful.

 

He squinted up at Spock and was about to call out to him when a deep grating noise filled his ears. Spock had wandered even further eastward and so was not directly above Kirk, which is what made it possible for Kirk to avoid the sudden avalanche of rock that began to tumble down the slope. There was a deafening crack and more rumbling as the large rock Spock had been standing on only moments before crashed and tumbled downward. Kirk watched it for only a moment but when he looked up he saw that Spock was gone.

 

“Spock!” Kirk cried, scrambling up to the place where Spock had been. His feet slid in the loose gravel, but he caught a firm hold and hoisted himself upright and onto a stone slab. Gasping, he dropped into a crouch, his hands clutching the rim of the gaping crevice in front of him.

 

Spock, face smudged with dirt and his bare arms scraped and bleeding, was clutching desperately at a small handhold with straining fingers. Kirk’s stomach lurched and he tried to still the tremors of fear building up in him as he met his friend’s shocked eyes. The crevice was not wide but appeared to be deep, and if Spock fell…

 

For a moment Kirk was frozen there on the edge as his mind tried to comprehend that Spock was relatively unharmed but might not stay that way for long. The moment passed and Kirk snapped into action, dropping to his stomach to reach down to his friend. His hands closed around Spock’s wrists. Spock let go with one hand and then the other, turning them so that he could grasp at Kirk’s wrists, locking them together. Kirk groaned under the weight, but steeled himself as Spock struggled for a higher foothold. His foot must have caught on something because his body began to rise up, with Kirk straining to lift him by the arms.

 

Kirk could have cried out with joy when Spock’s head came level with his, but then he heard the crack of stone falling against stone and Spock sank out of sight again, painfully jarring Kirk’s arms. Kirk couldn’t stop the yelp of pain that escaped him as his arms strained to take the weight of the dangling Vulcan. He heard the clatter of the spear as it dragged along the wall and the sound of boots scrabbling against rock. Spock was swaying dangerously, slipping millimeter by millimeter from Kirk’s grasp. Kirk felt himself slide forward a little and pulled up with all his might.

 

Sprawled on his belly, he couldn’t seem to brace himself enough to lift Spock, and from the terrible burning in his muscles Kirk knew that he wouldn’t be able to maintain this position for long. He hissed and let out a low curse as he felt himself slide forward a little. Spock was too heavy. If he couldn’t pull him up soon they were both going to fall.

 

Kirk’s eyes watered from the dust and the pain, and as he looked down at Spock it took him a moment to fully comprehend what he was seeing in those brown eyes. Spock was staring up at him with a heartbroken but resigned expression, mouth a tight line and misery written in every crease of his brow.

 

“Spock, hold on,” Kirk demanded.

 

“Jim,” came Spock’s throaty reply, with all the reverence of a benediction.

 

Spock’s thoughts as they came through their touch were almost consoling, and Kirk felt as if he might be ill. His vision swam and he struggled to remain calm in the face of what Spock was suggesting. He could not allow it. Losing Spock was not an option.

 

Kirk yelled angrily when he felt Spock’s hands begin to loosen on his wrists.

 

“Don’t you dare! If you fall I’m going in after you!” Kirk threatened. Spock only shook his head a little and released his grip on Kirk’s wrists completely. Kirk dug his fingers into Spock’s skin and held on as if he was the one dangling over an abyss.

 

“Jim,” Spock said again, and this time it was pleading.

 

“Spock! Look at me. I will not let you go. Do you understand? I will not.”

 

Kirk sent the strength of his determination surging into Spock through their link even as Spock’s terror pulsed into him. The sheer force of Spock’s fear startled Kirk and his heart clenched as he realized that all of it was for him. Spock did not fear death, he only feared dragging Kirk down with him. Even as Spock dangled above a dark chasm he wanted only to protect Kirk.

 

For a few long seconds he was overwhelmed by the strength of Spock’s fear for him, but then he renewed the flow of his own resolve into the link.

 

“Come on, Spock. I’ve got you. We can do this,” he said, keeping his voice even and sure despite the fear and the pain he was feeling. Spock must believe him if they were going to get out of this.

 

“Spock!”

 

At almost the same moment they both redoubled their efforts, Spock clasping Kirk’s wrists and digging into the rock with his feet, and Kirk pulling up with every bit of strength he possessed. They wavered for a moment there on the edge, veins bulging and muscles painfully taut, before Spock’s feet slipped and he begin to slide down again. Kirk refused to give an inch though, and kept their wrists above the rim.

 

After a few long, aching breaths they began again. Once Spock’s elbows reached the brink and pulled even with Kirk’s, Spock tore one hand out of Kirk’s grasp and caught hold of the pitted surface of the rock slab. From there he heaved himself up beside Kirk, tossed away his bag, and collapsed, both of them gasping and shaking from exertion and relief.

 

Kirk sat up suddenly and landed a half-hearted blow across Spock’s shoulder, and then grabbed him and shook him.

 

“Don’t you dare do something like that again, do you hear me! You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to just…leave!” he thundered, aware that he was raving but unable to stop himself.

 

Spock seemed to be in shock, his face blank and his body still trembling, so Kirk loosened his grip, and after watching him for a few moments, pulled him into a fierce embrace. Spock remained quiet and pliant in his arms, and Kirk didn’t let him go until the last of his tremors faded. They both slumped over, sprawled out on their backs and still breathing heavily.

 

“We might have had better luck if we’d just stayed and fought the Cadoans,” Kirk said wryly. It was a weak attempt at humor and it fell on uncomprehending ears.

 

If Kirk had been tired before he was completely exhausted now.

 

After a few minutes he rolled over onto his side and sat up, examining Spock. He carefully lifted Spock’s arm and turned it to inspect the scratches on his forearm. He nodded and laid Spock’s arm back down when he was satisfied that the scratches were not deep, and then he ran a hand over Spock’s ribcage before tracing down the other arm and catching the bleeding hand. The little finger was badly scraped but the blood seemed to be clotting already, so he reluctantly released the hand. He only briefly acknowledged to himself the pleasant prickling sensation he felt in response to the touch of their fingers.

 

He looked up to see Spock openly watching him, looking flushed and almost delirious. There was something lascivious about him, dirt smudged and bloody though he was, his head thrown back a little to expose the line of his throat as if in offering. The dark eyes held his, half-lidded and burning into him. The prickling sensation he’d felt upon touching Spock seemed to flare up again in little electric waves. Kirk couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away, and was just beginning to feel ill at ease when Spock suddenly closed his eyes and let his head droop to the side, turning away from him.

 

Kirk sat back and took a deep breath, reasoning that they were still reeling from the narrowly avoided catastrophe and just needed a bit of rest. Both of them were still pumped full of adrenaline and probably not thinking clearly. He crossed his arms over his knees and laid his forehead on his arms, working to steady his breathing and letting his aching body relax.

 

Disaster had been averted, and it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on what he had almost lost. Spock was safe, a comforting presence at Kirk’s side where he belonged. Kirk sighed as the tension drained out of him.

 

He estimated that about thirty minutes had passed when he felt a light touch on his shoulder and heard the deep rumble of Spock’s voice saying his name.

 

Kirk looked up and managed a small smile. Spock was crouched next to him, the strap of the bag over his shoulder and determination in his eyes again, though he looked more solemn than he had before. He held out a hand and Kirk took it, wincing when Spock stood and pulled him up. His arms were sore and there was a sharp pain in his right shoulder. After carefully rotating his arm he concluded the tearing of muscle had not been too severe.

 

McCoy was going to give him an earful when he got back on the _Enterprise_ , he was sure.

 

He rubbed his hands over his face, digging into his closed eyes until he saw lights against his eyelids. After getting a chance to sit down for a while he found that he was not eager to begin their relentless march again. He doubted he’d be able to keep up the pace as he had before.

 

“Spock, I’m tired.” Kirk sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d be okay staying here a little longer?”

 

Spock took a couple purposeful steps uphill in answer to Kirk’s tone, but Kirk was surprised by the earnestly sympathetic expression he wore. It was clear that he didn’t want to push Kirk, but he was set on retreating farther up the mountain even if it meant disregarding Kirk’s less than optimal physical state.

 

Kirk suddenly wished for another burst of adrenaline. Or maybe a large mug of black coffee. His eyes bugged out for a moment as something occurred to him.

 

“Hey! Hang on a minute,” he said, startling Spock as he stepped up beside him and began to dig around in the bag hanging off Spock’s shoulder. There were not too many food containers left, and it didn’t take long for Kirk to find what he was looking for. He waved the yellow pouch over his head in triumph once he had it in his hand.

 

“I ate some of this paste on our first day at the cave and it gave me a good jolt of energy,” he said, tearing open the pouch. “Well, I could certainly use a little extra energy right now.”

 

He began to squeeze the paste onto his tongue, swishing it around in his mouth as it dissolved. He had consumed half of the contents of the pouch when he noticed Spock watching him with a faintly bemused look.

 

Smiling, Kirk held out the pouch, offering the remainder to Spock. He was almost relieved when Spock turned it down with a small shake of his head, because if the paste had the same effect on Vulcans that it did on humans, Spock was likely to leave Kirk in his dust. Or, hell, he might just toss Kirk over his shoulder and carry him up the mountain. He wasn’t sure that his dignity could handle that.

 

“Fine. More for me,” he said brightly, squeezing the rest into his mouth and slipping the empty pouch back into the bag.

 

Spock assessed him for a moment, as though determining his ability to continue. Looking satisfied, he turned and began to climb. Kirk followed closely behind him, tired but hopeful that their journey would end soon.

 

The effects of the paste were much as Kirk remembered. It was not long before he found himself matching, and then surpassing Spock’s pace. He set off at a trot, scouting out ahead, much to the Vulcan’s dismay. Seeing that Spock was becoming agitated in his attempts to keep Kirk at his side, he slowed down until they were walking almost shoulder to shoulder.

 

His whole being was screaming for activity though, so he settled for falling behind and then darting ahead a little on the other side of Spock. He repeated the maneuver, effectively running circles around him.

 

Spock did not appear amused.

 

“Come on, Spock! You’re moving like molasses,” he teased, though he fell into step next to Spock again as a conciliatory gesture. It was only a matter of time, after all, until the effects of the paste wore off, and then he might actually need Spock to carry him up the mountain. He chuckled at the thought and Spock looked over, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“You know, this place isn’t so bad, alien invasion aside,” Kirk said, looking around them. “I used to go camping in places like this. Camping, fishing…you know, human stuff. You should come along with me sometime. I mean, back on earth. When you’re feeling better. Bones could come along too. I bet he’d get a kick out of—hey! Did you see that bird? It had fangs! Incredible. Anyway, we should definitely—”

 

“Jim,” Spock gently interrupted.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rambling, aren’t I,” Kirk conceded. “How much of what I’m saying do you understand, Spock?”

 

Spock merely blinked at him, and Kirk fell to musing over this question as they continued in silence. They walked side by side, steadying each other whenever the footing became precarious. They kept to the east of the stream as they had been doing, and though they occasionally came across fissures in the rock, none of them were as deep as the one Spock had fallen into. Kirk began to relax into their walk.

 

The ground soon began to level out a little, and though there were less trees to provide shade, the wind gusted cool and moist over the grassy mountainside. They had come alongside the stream again, and the water flowed clear around lichen speckled rocks, the streambed wider in its gentle descent down the slope.

 

The effects of the paste had completely worn off and Kirk’s limbs felt heavy as he trudged behind his tireless companion. Though the climb had become less rocky and steep, Kirk had to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, his head drooping down toward his chest as he struggled not to fall too far behind. His feet felt blistered and there was a constant throbbing in his ankle, but when he called out for Spock to slow down the Vulcan merely shook his head and pressed on.

 

When Kirk looked up again some time later Spock was moving faster, quickly leaving him behind. He reached the crest of a small grassy hill and looked back at Kirk with excitement in his eyes, and Kirk trotted to catch up. When he reached the top of the hill, stopping to lean against a spindly sapling, his breath caught in his throat.

 

The stream was flowing through a gully that cut through the low, rolling hills. Just beyond that, a blue lake sparkled in the sunlight.

 

They had found the source of the stream, and it was breathtaking.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There originally wasn't any more from Spock's point of view until much later in the story, but I decided to include a bit from him in this chapter (mainly him reflecting back on the rockslide). I hope you enjoy it!

**\- The Vulcan -**

 

The Vulcan looked past the gently sloping meadow, over the rolling hills beyond that, and hoped that they would be able to find shelter here. His eyes were drawn back to the hills and he suddenly found himself more alert. The air here was different, and when a light breeze carried to him the marshy scent of lake water, he quickened his step. They needed a source of water, and if they had found it, then it only remained to find shelter.

 

Jim would finally be able to rest.

 

Jim called out to him, pleading, but the end was in sight. The Vulcan broke into a trot, hating to leave Jim further behind but hoping to arouse his interest and therefore spur him on. He climbed the hill in front of him and gazed in wonder at the shimmering body of water in front of him. The land immediately surrounding the lake was blanketed by blue-green grass and scattered patches of flowers, and the Vulcan felt his spirits rise.

 

He did not fully understand his reaction to this place, as its beauty had no bearing on their survival. It occurred to him that Jim would appreciate its appeal. This thought made him smile.

 

His mood quickly sobered as Jim trudged up the hill, panting sharply as he struggled for air. The Vulcan felt Jim's exhaustion as an oppressive weight against his own consciousness, and he wished to remove that burden. When Jim reached him, the Vulcan clasped Jim’s wrist to steady him, all too aware of the fragile pulse beating beneath his fingers.

 

The Vulcan shuddered to think of how close they had come to dying earlier that day. He closed his eyes for a moment, flinching against the memory of it.

 

*

 

They fled up the mountain.

 

The Vulcan checked over his shoulder frequently to make sure his human companion was not falling too far behind. He ignored the feeble stirrings of forest life and scouted ahead as far as he dared. It pained him that he could not reach out and touch Jim, pull the human into his embrace and keep him there, but he focused his attention on the forest ahead.

 

When the terrain became more rocky and treacherous the Vulcan grew worried. This part of the mountainside was an unstable maze of crumbling rock and deep fissures that lay hidden between one boulder and the next. He gazed up the mountain, seeking an easier path. He did not like to expose Jim to such risk.

 

He was aware of Jim behind him, breathing too-heavily but stubbornly clambering up after him. He gently brushed against the bond and continued his climb.

 

The Vulcan’s eyes took in the gaping hole in the rock at the same time that Jim stumbled. He shifted around to look at Jim as the boulder beneath him began to tremble. There was too much happening at once, and the Vulcan’s hesitation as his concern shifted reluctantly from Jim to himself left him with little time to act.

 

Rock and dirt began to shift and slide down, moving like unforgiving water. The boulder beneath the Vulcan’s feet shook loose with a grating rumble and began to roll down, taking him with it. Small stones pelted him as he threw himself clear, but he knew even as he fell that he was too close to the edge of the fissure. He landed hard, his chest colliding painfully with the ledge and his feet dangling in the air. Dust choked him and his hands scrambled desperately through gravel as he slid over the edge.

 

He thought of Jim, even as he felt himself drop. Was Jim injured? Did he need help? He opened his mouth to call Jim’s name but dirt choked him. He must halt his descent. The Vulcan grit his teeth and grasped with his hands, ignoring the feeling of jagged rock scraping the delicate skin of his fingers. He found a small cleft in the stone at the same time his feet caught against the wall, and he jerked to stop.

 

He held very still, closing his eyes against the dust and reaching for Jim in his mind. He felt Jim’s alarm, but no pain, and clenched his eyes shut even tighter as relief filled him.

 

He must hold on.

 

Dirt crumbled beneath his fingers, loosening his grip, and he became certain that he would fall. He would die, and Jim would be alone. Miserable and slipping, he tilted his head up to see Jim looking down at him. His heart seized for a moment as his fear of falling warred with his joy at seeing Jim.

 

Jim dropped down and in a moment his hands were around the Vulcan’s wrists. The Vulcan’s stomach lurched as he realized he must let go of his handhold, but Jim had him. Jim would not let him fall. Once his fingers wrapped around Jim’s wrists he felt safer, even with the yawning depth beneath him.

 

The Vulcan scraped with the toe of his boot until he found a higher niche, and then he began to climb. Jim’s hope flared up and became his own as he continued to rise, and their eyes met. He had known Jim would save him. With Jim’s help, he lifted himself higher.

 

The Vulcan felt the rock and dirt crumble beneath his feet and he fell, his descent stopping with a jolt that made Jim cry out in pain. He felt the searing agony of Jim’s muscles stretching and tearing, felt Jim’s despair and his fear in a sickening blast through the bond. His own body dangled, aching and limp, but that did not matter. Jim was in pain, and it was the Vulcan who was hurting him.

 

He felt Jim slide closer to the edge, felt his own body drop a little, and he knew what he must do. The Vulcan did not want to die, did not want to leave Jim, but the thought of Jim dying was unbearable. Perhaps Jim could still save him, but the Vulcan decided that it was not worth the risk. Better that he should die now and Jim’s survival be assured.

 

He willed Jim to understand this, pushed his love and determination at Jim even as he tried to conceal the anguish that was tearing at him.

 

Jim _must_ accept this. He must live.

 

The Vulcan saw the moment when Jim understood, but the human ignored his wish, calling out to him. The Vulcan called out in turn, pouring all of his love into the name, “Jim.”

 

He wished to console Jim, to assure him that this was for the best. He could feel Jim’s panic and knew that Jim would not willingly let him die. He released Jim’s wrists, making the decision for him.

 

Jim’s fury startled him, shooting into him like razor sharp barbs. Jim would not let him go. The human’s voice was fierce, loud, and his determination forceful, absolute.

 

“Jim,” the Vulcan begged.

 

Jim’s anger dulled, but his determination did not. It flowed into the Vulcan in a torrent and began to sweep away his own thoughts.

 

The Vulcan was afraid. Jim would not let him go, and if he could not climb to safety soon they would both die. His last moments would be filled with the horror of knowing Jim had died because of him. Jim would not let him go, and if the Vulcan fell, so would Jim.

 

He must not fall.

 

The Vulcan took a deep breath and dug into the rock with his feet as hard as he could. He pushed himself up, and with Jim’s help he rose above the ledge, muscles pulling painfully tight. He ignored the pain, ignored Jim’s pain, and gained a little more ground before his feet slipped and he dropped. Jim held firm though, bracing himself as the Vulcan dug in and pushed up again.

 

They strained there on the brink for a small eternity. Then Vulcan pulled himself over the edge, gasping in deep breaths of air. He shed his bag before letting himself collapse next to Jim.

 

He was alive. Jim had not let him die.

 

The Vulcan hardly felt the angry swat of Jim’s hand against his shoulder, but when the human grabbed him and shook him, his eyes snapped to Jim’s. Jim yelled at him, fear and fury coming through the bond.

 

The Vulcan was lost inside himself. Jim had been in such danger. Even though Jim was safe for the moment the Vulcan could not seem to slow the heavy throbbing of his heart or dispel the haze of fear from his mind. His body quaked as he stared helplessly into Jim’s eyes. Jim’s anger vanished, and the Vulcan found himself being pulled into a warm embrace. He sagged against the human, soaking up his warmth and affection.

 

When Jim released him, they sprawled out side by side on the rock, still breathing heavily. Minutes passed and neither of them moved.

 

The Vulcan felt it when Jim sat up, felt Jim’s eyes on him. When Jim’s fingers gently wrapped around his forearm and lifted it up he cracked open his eyes to see Jim attentively examining him. His skin burned at Jim’s touch, and as Jim’s hand ghosted over his chest the Vulcan resisted the urge to arch up. Jim tenderly lifted the Vulcan’s hand and electric sparks of desire went off beneath his skin.

 

Jim was beautiful, and the Vulcan wanted more of his touch.

 

The Vulcan knew he was projecting his desire into the human, and when he received a burst trepidation in return he felt again the sensation of falling. Rejected, he turned his head away.

 

As they rested, the Vulcan focused on the sound of Jim’s breathing to calm himself.

 

The Vulcan would have liked to allow Jim more time to relax—especially when he became aware that Jim’s consciousness was slowly easing toward sleep—but they could not stop now. Here they were out in the open, exposed, and the Vulcan hoped to find shelter before the sun went down. They must keep moving.

 

The Vulcan drew Jim’s attention and urged him up. Jim’s movements were stiff, and when he cringed, clutching at his shoulder, the Vulcan felt shame fill him. That Jim should be injured saving him...it was something he must not allow to happen again.

 

*

 

The Vulcan opened his eyes, pleased to note that Jim's breathing was already evening out. Jim stood next to him, gazing down at the lake, and the wonder and excitement that flowed down the bond filled the Vulcan with satisfaction. If this place made Jim happy then he would gladly stay here.

 

It did not matter to the Vulcan where he was, as long as Jim was with him.

  
  
  
  


**\- James T. Kirk -**

 

Kirk limped toward the lake, dropping to his knees just as he reached its rocky edge. For a few moments he sat hunched, panting softly as he took in the sight of so much clear, inviting water. Then he flung himself out on his back, his head nestling into the smooth, rounded stones of the shore. He let out a long sigh. He could feel the damp soaking into his clothing, but he was far too tired to care.

 

At the moment he was thoroughly determined that they would remain here until the _Enterprise_ came back for them, regardless of how restless Spock became.

 

His eyes were closed against the sun’s light, but he slowly opened them when he heard the crunching of boots against stones and a shadow fell across him. Spock put down his bag and dropped into a cross-legged position next to Kirk, giving him a warm look before staring out across the lake. Kirk could tell by his stiff posture that he was still feeling watchful, but he seemed to have accepted that Kirk would go no further.

 

In a few clumsy motions Kirk yanked his pack up by his head, beat at it with his fist, and then plopped down on his makeshift pillow. He was so tired, every muscle in his body tingling with a dull ache, and his mind was humming with thoughts of the day’s events.

 

He reflected back on that morning, giving a little shudder as he remembered the alarming feeling of waking up alone after a night spent wrapped around Spock. The uneasy feeling had dissipated quickly though, and hearing Spock say his name had thrilled him in a way he hadn’t expected.

 

Kirk glanced over at Spock and smiled softly at the sight of him sitting so near. His smile faded as he noticed the bruises that had formed on Spock’s chest and arms. They were not severe, but they served as a reminder of how close he had come to losing Spock.

 

Something in Kirk had shifted when Spock was clinging to him for life. The fear that he might have to live his life without Spock in it had shaken him severely, and had made even more clear to Kirk the true extent of his need for him. But, while he could admit to himself that he cared very deeply for Spock, he knew that didn’t necessarily mean that he would enjoy a more physical relationship with him.

 

Maybe that was something they could examine once they were rescued and the damage to Spock’s mind had been repaired. Now was not the best time to explore with Spock the possibility of being lovers, because Spock was not entirely himself. So, for now, he would wait. They would be rescued, Spock would get treatment, and then, if Spock still had feelings for Kirk…

 

Kirk rolled onto his side facing the lake and let his eyes drift closed. His mind blanked as he fell asleep, sun-warmed and bone-weary.

 

He slept hard, securely wrapped in the familiar presence at his side, and when he awoke some time later, he was startled to realize that Spock did not seem to have moved at all. The sun had fallen farther toward the trees, and Kirk guessed that he had slept for over an hour, two hours at most.

 

Upon seeing Kirk was awake, Spock immediately got to his feet and stretched languidly, his lax movements belied by the cagey glinting of his eyes.

 

Kirk took Spock’s offered hand and was hauled to his feet, swaying a little as his tired body protested the sudden movement.

 

“Jim?” Spock asked.

 

“My legs aren’t awake yet. I just need a moment,” he assured Spock with a smile. “Ugh…I feel like I could sleep for a week. And speaking of sleep, I guess we should try to find a suitable place to hole up for the night.”

 

He collected his pack and his spear, Spock hovering near with a worried frown etched on his face. With a deep sigh, Jim began to walk along shore, still limping slightly. The area immediately around the lake was flat and grassy, though further out the landscape grew thick with stunted versions of the coniferous trees that had made up the forest they’d recently traveled through.

 

The lake was not very large, and before long began to narrow and stretch through a grove of trees. A spindly legged herbivore that reminded Kirk of a gazelle whirled and bounded away from them as they approached what appeared to be the farthest edge of the lake. The water here was shallow and clear, settled at the base of a rocky incline.

 

Looking up at the gentle slope, Kirk was pleased to see that they had found the source that fed the lake. Water was tumbling over and between rocks that were covered with turquoise moss, and when they climbed up a little higher they found a pool of crystal clear spring water.

 

When Spock stepped up beside him, Kirk reached into Spock’s bag and pulled out an empty water bottle. He dropped down and plunged it into the pool, letting it fill up before lifting it to take a tentative sip. It was crisp and refreshing and he found himself taking a deeper swig despite himself. The water tasted clean, but that was no guarantee that it was not contaminated in some way.

 

Spock obviously did not share Kirk’s worry, dropping down next to him with another of the empty bottles and drinking deeply from it once it was filled. Kirk stifled his worry and drank more from his own bottle.

 

Since this might very well be the only source of fresh water they’d find, he supposed they didn’t really have much of a choice if they didn’t want to die of dehydration before the _Enterprise_ could return for them. Spock could go without water for longer periods, but Kirk knew there was no way he could stop the Vulcan from drinking from the pool if he himself was doing so.

 

Feeling somewhat refreshed and eager to find a good resting place before it grew dark, Kirk stood and tapped Spock’s pale, hunched shoulder.

 

“Let’s keep moving. We’ll come back later.”

 

He started walking, conscious of the way Spock fell in step next to him with such quiet, natural ease. It would be easy to take for granted Spock’s cooperative behavior, but Kirk reminded himself not to underestimate the power that Spock’s freed emotions still had over him.

 

Kirk led them away from the lake and up toward the rockier slopes where they would be more likely to find a cave. The day had been warmer than previous days, and though Kirk was looking forward to a night that wasn’t quite so chilly, he was currently dripping with sweat and wishing for the relief a cool breeze would bring. Spock seemed entirely unaffected by the weather.

 

Not wanting to travel too far from their water source, Kirk turned and began a course parallel with the lake below. They had wandered down into a heavily wooded area closer to the valley and Kirk had seen no hint of a suitable shelter. They began to ascend again, clambering up a steep rock shelf.

 

Kirk reached the top, his movements becoming slow and clumsy as fatigue overtook him. He might have been more careful with his footing if he hadn’t been so confident of his grip on the branch he was using to pull himself up, but his thoughts were becoming sluggish and his actions careless.

 

When the branch snapped he flew backward toward the edge. For a surreal moment he felt as though he was suspended in the air, but then his feet were over his head and his back landed against rock, flinging him in an ungainly heap onto the ground below. The rock shelf was not very high where they had ascended, so the drop was not significant, but Kirk remained frozen, sprawled on his side, afraid that if he moved he’d discover that some part of him was broken.

 

There was a dull thud and Spock was suddenly leaning over him, eyes wide with fear.

 

“Jim!” he cried, reaching for Kirk.

 

Kirk groaned and started to sit up, his sense of balance finally beginning to return to him. “I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, I don’t think.”

 

Spock caught him by the shoulders and pushed him back down.

 

“Spock, it’s all right,” Kirk grumbled, pushing his way up again.

 

“Jim,” Spock warned, still holding him by the shoulders.

 

“Spock, if you’d just—”

 

“Jim!”

 

“Let me—” Kirk found that he was more embarrassed and angry than hurt, and shoved at Spock’s chest, trying to get out of that iron grip. “Damn it, I’m not—”

 

“ _Kroykah_!” Spock yelled, his expression growing stormy as he pressed Kirk to the ground.

 

Kirk, stunned into silence, went still beneath him. He might have allowed himself to feel amazement over the fact that Spock had just said something other than ‘Jim,’ but Spock was still hovering over him, looking fierce and dangerous.

 

Slowly those furious features softened, and then Spock sat back, fingers wrapped in the fabric of Kirk’s shirt and chin dropping down to his chest. After a few long moments, during which Spock seemed to be struggling with some turbulent inner force, he looked up, assessing Kirk.

 

He fingered a new tear in Kirk’s sleeve, pressing gently against the scratch there before moving on to check for other injuries. Spock’s hands slid beneath Kirk’s shirt and rubbed lightly over his back. He was sore there, and knew he’d probably have a spectacular bruise where he had collided with rock, but Spock seemed satisfied with his examination and sat back on his heels.

 

Spock let out an audible sigh, and looked over his shoulder at the rocks above them. His gaze dropped as he continued to scan the area around them, then his attention focused sharply on something in the distance and he stood up.

 

As Spock walked along the rock wall Kirk tilted his head to follow Spock’s movements with his eyes. Spock’s anger had made him wary, and he wasn’t sure if he should try to get up again.

 

Spock returned a minute later and snaked an arm under Kirk, pulling him into a sitting position. He reached his other arm under Kirk’s legs, lifting him easily off the ground.

 

“Spock, you don’t have to…” Kirk’s voice trailed off, and his cheeks burned as Spock carried him as easily as if he was a child. He projected his disapproval at Spock.

 

Spock’s eyebrows twitched minutely, but he kept walking with Kirk cradled in his arms, stepping cautiously around obstacles until he reached his destination.

 

His destination, Kirk was surprised to see, was a recess in the rock face at ground level. It wasn’t a cave—in fact, it was really more of an overhang—but it was deep enough that it would provide them with protection against the sun during the day and against rain, should the weather turn that way. Spock hunched down just inside and deposited Kirk on the floor of their new shelter. The ground was lightly padded with a layer of the needle-like leaves that had dropped from the trees near the rock shelf.

 

Kirk crawled further back onto a large slab of rock, and he was pleased when he was able to sit up without bumping his head on the roof above him. Spock came in a few minutes later, carrying Kirk’s spear. Kirk must have dropped it when he fell.

 

Spock laid down the spear and then slung the bag to the floor, digging into it and then going to Kirk with two boxes from their rations. As Kirk tore open the box and pulled out the clear bag, he wondered if they’d be able catch another animal for food. He munched absently on his kibble until he was dragged from his listless reverie by a sudden awareness of the presence at his side. Spock was sitting next to him, his leg only just brushing Kirk’s, as he chewed his own food in sullen silence.

 

“Well, here we are,” Kirk said lamely.

 

He was dirty, thoroughly exhausted, and aching in every joint and muscle. The air began to cool as the sun disappeared and the sky went deep pink, but it would still be about an hour before it became completely dark. Kirk wanted nothing more than for this eventful day to be over.

 

When they were done eating, Spock slipped down off the slab of rock and ducked out from underneath their shelter. Kirk watched curiously as Spock began to gather up a large armful of the needle-leaves, turning and going back to the overhang when he couldn’t carry any more. He dumped the whole mess unceremoniously in a pile next to Kirk and then turned around and went back out.

 

For a moment Kirk stared after him in confusion, but then comprehension dawned. He began to spread the needle-leaves evenly out on the rock slab. A thick layer of leaves would make a better mattress than bare rock, after all.

 

After a few more trips Spock had collected enough that they had an inviting-looking nest at the rear of the overhang. Examining the padded bed, Kirk decided that it looked far more comfortable than the packed-dirt floor of the cave they had left behind.

 

Spock tucked their blankets under his arm and brought Kirk a bottle. They took turns drinking the water before crawling into their nest and sitting next to each other, their knees drawn up.

 

Kirk leaned against a protrusion of rock, flinching a little at the soreness in his back.

 

Staring out at the trees, Kirk decided that he missed the spectacular view they’d had back at the cave, but soon enough it grew too dark to see anything but murky, unidentifiable shapes. Kirk exhaled deeply and leaned into Spock.

 

He felt the need to fill the dark that was settling around them and cleared his throat.

 

“So, _kroykah_ …that’s a Vulcan word. Do you remember how to speak Vulcan now?” Kirk asked. He searched the dark face looming just next to his for any sign of understanding, but Spock merely watched him placidly.

 

“I guess not,” he finally said, turning his face back to the sliver of dark, blotchy landscape still visible from beneath their rock.

 

The moonlight gave some shape and form to the night world, but beneath the overhang it quickly became too dark for Kirk to see anything more than the barest outline of the man beside him.

 

Deciding it was time to rest, Kirk pushed away from the rock and laid himself out in their nest. Spock joined him, tucking the blankets around them, and slipped one arm beneath Kirk’s head and the other over his waist. Kirk was too tired to think anything of this easy familiarity. He moved back more firmly against Spock’s chest, letting himself enjoy the sense of security that washed over him.

 

He knew that he would sleep well this way.

 

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kroykah - Vulcan word for "stop."
> 
> I would like to thank (worship!) my beta [Druxykexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy) for practically holding my hand during a fit of writing-induced anxiety, and a big shout out to everyone who has left kudos or encouraging comments! I appreciate it so much!


	6. Chapter 6

Kirk woke gradually, feeling so warm and comfortable that for a few minutes he struggled back towards sleep despite being distantly aware that the morning was no longer new. Spock had rolled onto his back during the night, and Kirk now found himself half-draped across the Vulcan’s chest, his head pillowed on Spock’s shoulder.

 

He might have lingered there a while longer, had he not realized two things: One, He was drooling. His cheek was wet, and he had no doubt he had left a saliva puddle of respectable size on Spock’s skin. Two, Spock was awake.

 

Kirk sat up abruptly, Spock rising up next to him only a moment after with an alarmed expression. As he examined the firm, hairy chest, Kirk wondered if Spock had any intention of putting his shirt on at some point. His gaze moved to Spock’s shoulder and his cheeks burned. Yes, there was definitely a puddle of drool beneath Spock’s collar bone. Kirk watched in embarrassment as the saliva began to drip down.

 

“Here. I, uh…let me get that,” Kirk stammered, using his sleeve to pat Spock dry. As Kirk ducked his head and scooted back against the wall, he could have sworn he saw a glint of mirth flash in Spock’s eyes.

 

Spock crawled out of the nest, coming back a few moments later with a water bottle and a box Kirk recognized as one containing dried fruit. He offered them both to Kirk.

 

“Breakfast in bed, Spock? You’ll spoil me,” Kirk said with a sly smile. He received no response from Spock except a subtle tilt of his head, and he ate his meager breakfast in silence. When he was done, Spock took the empty box from him and stuffed it in the pack as Kirk had done numerous times, and then they both moved out into the sunlight.

 

“I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta take a leak,” Kirk said, making a vague gesture at the trees. He was surprised when Spock didn’t follow him. He wondered if Spock was starting to understand him more, or if he had finally learned to give Kirk some space. Kirk kept near the rock wall and walked until he felt he had put enough distance between himself and shelter before relieving himself.

 

With that taken care of, he ambled back at a leisurely pace. He heard the sharp trilling noise that had intrigued him after they’d left the cave, and looked up at the trees.

 

“Ha! There you are,” he said triumphantly as he spotted a small, hairless creature clutching a tree with bat-like wings. It was nearly the same rusty brown as the tree bark to which it clung, and Kirk wouldn’t have spotted the creature at all if he hadn’t happened to walk so near it. He once again wished that Spock was well enough to talk to him and offer him information in that deep, knowing voice of his.

 

With a sigh, Kirk trotted the rest of the way back.

 

Spock was standing just outside the shelter when he got back, silent and waiting. Kirk fetched his spear and a water bottle before joining Spock outside again. They had important business to attend to.

 

“Spock, where’s your shirt?” Kirk asked. Spock blinked at him. Kirk tried again, pulling at his own shirt and then pointing to Spock’s bare chest. “Your shirt. Where is it?”

 

Spock’s eyes widened in understanding, and he went back under the overhang to retrieve his shirt from the bag. Kirk smiled at him as Spock returned, shirt draped over his arm, and stopped at Kirk’s side.

 

“It’s bath time,” Kirk said. He thought of the clear, inviting water and grinned from ear to ear, to the puzzlement of his companion. If Spock had any concerns about Kirk’s intentions though, he did not show it, but followed him dutifully toward the lake.

 

Kirk carefully picked his way down a hillside broken by protruding tree roots and flinty nodes that peeked through dark earth. He leaned heavily on his spear when his ankle protested the steep descent, but he did not lose his balance. To his relief, the ground soon began to level out.

 

When they reached the spring, Kirk guzzled the water that remained in the bottle and then refilled it, rejoicing in the fact a that he didn’t have to be sparing now that they had a reliable source to keep them hydrated.  He offered Spock a sip, but the Vulcan just nodded his head, watching Kirk patiently. When Kirk began walking again Spock silently fell in line behind him.

 

They had done a lot of walking in their search for shelter the day before, so Kirk was surprised by how quickly they reached the lake now that they knew where they were headed. They marched along the narrow neck of the lake that led from the place where the spring water fed into it, stepping gingerly where the shore was made up of slippery rock.

 

They stopped when they found a spot along the shore where soft, spongy grass led right up to the water. Here the water lapped up gently over grainy dirt and small, smooth stones, and there was only a light scattering of reeds.

 

Kirk was tempted to dash into with lake with wild abandon for a refreshing swim, but one sniff of his grimy shirt was enough to convince him to take care of his clothes before anything else. He strolled over to a young sapling and put his spear and water down at its base, and then he began to strip off his clothes. He tucked the clothes under his arm, dropped his boots by the tree, and refusing to feel self-conscious about his nudity, strolled to the waters edge.

 

It was a warm day and as Kirk’s sore feet hit the cool water he sighed with relief.

 

When the water was up to his knees he squatted down, plunging his clothes into the water. He glanced up to see Spock watching him with a look that seemed to be a mixture of trepidation and annoyance.

 

He grinned to himself as he began to scrub fabric against fabric, plunging and rubbing at his clothes until the water around him became faintly cloudy. When he was satisfied that he had removed as much of grime as he could, he gathered up the dripping pile and went back to the sapling. He wrung out the water, twisting the fabric and shaking it out, and then hung everything out on the thin branches.

 

He turned to Spock, who was still watching him with that strange look on his face, and smiled. He gestured for Spock to come to him. When Spock was standing in front of him he took Spock’s shirt from him and flung it over his shoulder. He looked down at Spock’s lower half, and swallowed hard.

 

“Take these off,” Kirk said, tugging at the waistband of Spock’s pants. Spock scowled at him. “Come on, Spock. You stink!”

 

Spock’s features softened, and then something sharp and bright like mischief flashed through his eyes, but it was gone in an instant. He cocked his head at Kirk, his expression all innocence.

 

“Don’t be difficult!” Kirk scolded, but Spock continued to watch him with steady eyes. “Fine.”

 

Kirk took a deep breath and huffed it out, fumbling with the fastenings of Spock’s pants and tugging them down over Spock’s slender yet muscular legs. Kirk’s fingers dragged against Spock’s calves, and when he looked up he realized his face was mere centimeters from Spock’s crotch. He dropped his gaze and swatted irritably at Spock’s foot. Spock lifted it so that Kirk could slide the pants off, and Kirk repeated the action with the other foot. Kirk stood and draped the pants over his arm.

 

He glanced down at Spock’s underwear—which were black and clinging snugly over his slim hips and soft bulge—and took a deep breath.

 

A moment later he turned on his heel and carried Spock’s pants and shirt into the water, dropping down to clean them as he had his own clothes. He could have insisted that Spock clean his own things, but he suddenly felt the need to keep himself busy.

 

Kirk didn’t look up when Spock came splashing into the water and crouched down next to him. He tried to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when he realized that Spock was mimicking his scrubbing actions in the water with a pair of Starfleet issue underwear.

 

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen Spock naked before. In fact, he could remember a time very recently when an impromptu decontamination procedure had necessitated the quick removal of all of their clothes. But, that had been an emergency situation. Now Spock was an arresting presence at his side, casually taking part in a mundane task and—and he was gloriously naked.

 

Kirk chided himself for giving the matter any thought at all. There was no significance to the fact that Spock was naked. Men could be proudly and unashamedly naked in front of each other without needing to even acknowledge their mutual nakedness. Over-thinking Spock’s nudity was foolish.

 

Except Spock wasn’t just anyone. Kirk turned now to examine his friend as he had done so often since their abandonment on Nghia. Spock was absorbed in his task, eyes cast down and eyebrows slightly pinched together in concentration. Kirk’s eye was drawn to a smudge of dirt in the pale hollow his cheek.

 

On impulse, Kirk reached up and gently rubbed the smudge with the wet pad of his thumb. It was a soft up and down motion and Kirk was quietly enjoying the strange, electric prickling caused by the touching of their skin when he realized that Spock had become absolutely motionless.

 

Kirk pulled his hand away, astounded by the heat that began to burn low in him when Spock raised his smoldering eyes to Kirk’s. He held Spock’s eyes for a moment, matching fire with fire until it started to feel like a promise he couldn’t keep. He tore his gaze away. Spock wasn’t in his right mind, Kirk reminded himself. He stood up and walked out of the lake.

 

Kirk strode over to the sapling and began to wring out Spock’s clothes, taking slow, deep breaths. He was draping the tattered blue shirt over a branch when Spock appeared next to him, wringing out and then hanging his underwear. Kirk’s mind was still a flurry of confused impulses, but he couldn’t help but laugh when he stepped back and looked at the young tree, it’s branches drooping under the scattering of damp clothes.

 

Kirk turned his grin on Spock, and felt his thoughts settle happily at the sight of Spock smiling in return. It was an odd sight, to be sure, but Kirk drank it up greedily.

 

“All right, now it’s our turn,” Kirk said, clapping Spock on the shoulder.

 

Spock followed him in, but stopped near the spot where they had washed their clothes and refused to go any further. Kirk continued to wade out into the water until it was up to his chest, and then turned around. Spock looked nervous, glancing out at the lake and then at Kirk in concern.

 

“Come in. You don’t have to swim across it, but you should at least get your head wet,” Kirk said, patting the water.

 

“Jim,” Spock called, frowning slightly.

 

For a minute Kirk thought about compromising and meeting him halfway so that he could slowly lure him into deeper water. Kirk let out a frustrated huff and kicked off from the bottom, launching himself out toward the middle of the lake. If Spock was afraid of the water then Kirk wouldn’t try to force him.

 

His body cut smoothly through the water, each strong stroke propelling him with satisfying speed toward the far shore. He felt weightless, and the coolness of the water soothed his aching body as he carried himself forward. His strokes became languid as he slowed. He stopped, treading water, and looked back at Spock.

 

Spock hadn’t ventured any deeper and was pacing slowly back and forth along the shore.

 

Kirk was enjoying his swim but decided he should return before Spock became too agitated. With a dive that took him well beneath the surface, he started back.

 

He remained at that depth, enjoying the sensation of being submerged and feeling with his hands as his fingers brushed the tips of lake weeds. When his lungs started to burn for air he let his movements carry him up. He burst out of the water in a spectacular spray to see that Spock was nowhere in sight.

 

“The hell…” Kirk murmured, just before frantically flailing arms broke the surface ahead of him.

 

Spock was splashing around in an ineffective attempt to remain above water. His black hair was plastered to his head and his gaping mouth sucked in a desperate breath before he sank out of sight again.

 

Kirk dove forward and quickly reached the spot where Spock had gone down. He felt the jolt of a knee against his leg and then a hand swiped at his chest. Spock came back up spluttering and caught Kirk by the shoulder, dragging them both under in his eagerness keep hold of him.

 

Kirk, struggling under Spock’s weight, pulled them above water and started moving for the shore, relieved when Spock stopped his thrashing and fell into what Kirk thought resembled an injured doggy paddle.

 

When his feet hit the bottom, Kirk stood and tugged Spock closer to the shore before whirling on him in exasperation.

 

“Damn it, Spock! What the hell was that?” he snapped.

 

Spock was breathing heavily and staring blankly at Kirk’s chest, swaying slightly. It occurred to Kirk that when he dove underwater Spock might have feared that he was in trouble, and had gone in with the intent of saving him. He supposed he should have expected it, given how nervous Spock seemed of the water, and how protective he was in general.

 

Kirk laughed ruefully. “If that was your idea of a rescue attempt then it was a piss-poor one. You nearly drowned us both,” he said, though his voice was gentler now and he was half-smiling at the dripping Vulcan. “You’re a really terrible swimmer, you know that? It’s kind of nice to know you’re bad at something.”

 

Spock looked up and met his eyes. For a moment he merely watched Kirk intently, and then he collapsed forward, throwing his arms around Kirk’s neck.

 

Kirk leaned into the great, solid length of him, unconcerned with anything but the comfort of being near Spock. He rubbed his hands up and down Spock’s back, feeling pleased when the rigid muscles relaxed a little beneath his fingers.

 

When they pulled apart Spock still looked somewhat peaked, although he quirked an eyebrow when Kirk’s stomach let out a loud rumble.

 

“Yeah, I guess we should have brought a snack with us. I don’t suppose you could catch another animal for us to cook up. ”

 

Kirk was pleasantly tired after his swim and found a thick patch of grass to lie down in, sprawling in the sun with a hum of contentment. It would take some time for their clothes to dry, so he figured he might as well make himself comfortable.

 

Spock sat down near him, arms wrapped around his knees and dark eyes blinking lazily.

 

As Kirk looked him over he was startled by the sight of Spock’s right leg. A strange row of circular welts wrapped in a line around his ankle and partway up his calf. Green blood was trickling from some of the marks, and Kirk’s stomach dropped as he realized that something must have grabbed Spock while he was in the lake.

 

“Spock, are you okay?” Kirk asked, sitting up and reaching out to delicately touch one of the welts.

 

Spock nodded slightly and then his face took on a look that clearly said “ _I told you so._ ” It wasn’t a large lake, and based on Kirk’s study of this region of Nghia, he honestly hadn’t expected to encounter anything truly dangerous in the water. But sometimes alien planets presented them with alien surprises. It wouldn’t do to drop his guard again.

 

“You’re right, I know. I’ll be more careful, I promise,” Kirk said as he lay back down in the grass.

 

Whatever it was hadn’t been powerful enough to overwhelm the Vulcan, but Spock’s concern for Kirk had been justified, and Kirk would not risk another swim like that in the lake. He softly sighed out his disappointment and draped an arm over his eyes.

 

Kirk didn’t know how long he had been lying in the grass when a soft rustling drew his attention. He looked up to see that Spock had moved over to the sapling and had Kirk’s spear in his hand. Kirk followed the direction of Spock’s gaze and saw another of the gazelle-like creatures they’d seen the day before. It was weaving in and out of the trees and slowly making its way to the lake, its frail-looking legs lifting gracefully as it stepped through the grass.

 

It stopped suddenly, one dainty hoof hovering above the grass, and perked up its rounded ears. After a minute of intense listening the animal started to walk again, turning in the direction of the spring.

 

When Kirk looked back at the sapling Spock was gone. He sat up, looking around, and spotted Spock creeping to the tree line. He obviously meant to circle around and cut the animal off before it reached the spring. Kirk watched, fascinated, as Spock moved swiftly between the trees, all fierce intent and sinewy strength.

 

Once Spock was out of sight, Kirk sat back, resting on his elbows. He wondered if Spock would be able to catch the animal, and silently wished him luck. Kirk was famished.

 

Something small flipped out of the water and sank back down with a splash, and he settled back down, watching the lake. It was beautiful here, but as his discomforts grew he found it more and more difficult to appreciate the peace of the place.

 

Some ten minutes later he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Spock loping toward him through the grass. His hunt had not been successful and Kirk was sure he could see disappointment in Spock’s eyes as he drew near.

 

Spock sat down again, this time a little farther from Kirk, looking decidedly downcast.

 

The sight made something twist painfully in Kirk, and he felt the need to reach out to his friend. Kirk climbed to his feet and went over to Spock, reaching out a hand.

 

“Let’s go explore a little.”

 

Spock stared at his hand for a moment and then took it, letting Kirk pull him to his feet. When he was standing, Spock handed Kirk the spear and watched him curiously. Kirk felt a little strange wandering around naked, but they had time to kill and there was no sense hiding in the grass out of an unnecessary sense of propriety. There was no one here to see them, and he was finding that his nudity didn’t make him feel exposed in Spock’s company.

 

For nearly an hour they explored the area around the lake, stepping cautiously among the stones and avoiding altogether a marching line of insects that looked like large, mutated ants.

 

Kirk, wandering along the edge of a shallow, marshy stretch of shoreline, looked down at the water. He saw the glinting of red and gold scales as a narrow-bodied fish darted for cover in a patch of submerged lake grass and stringy yellow algae. He stopped to watch it disappear, wondering if the fish were safe to eat, and if he would get hungry enough to find out.

 

When they finally meandered back their clothes were more or less dry, so they dressed, smoothing out the fabric and tugging everything into place.

 

Their shirts were still stained, but at least they were no longer stiff with sweat or as badly discolored by dirt.

 

They hiked back toward the shelter, stopping off at the spring to rest. Kirk wasn’t overly tired, but the area around the spring pool was beautiful and relaxing, and he thought it would be best if he took his weight off of his ankle for a bit. He sat down, leaned back against a tree, and watched as Spock paced around the pool.

 

Spock’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the woods around them, and Kirk felt an inexplicable shiver go through him.

 

Spock’s movements stopped suddenly, and he sniffed the air, cocking his head a little as he stared out at the trees. Something had caught his attention, but Kirk couldn’t see or hear anything unusual and merely gave Spock a questioning look when he started moving off in the direction of the shelter.

 

Spock threw out a hand toward Kirk in a gesture that clearly meant “stay,” and then he was gone.

 

Kirk chewed his lip for a moment, wondering if he should follow anyway, but decided that if Spock was on another hunt it would be best to let him go alone. Spock would need to move swiftly and quietly if he was going to catch anything.

 

Kirk leaned his head back, his hair catching on the scratchy bark and dappled sunlight falling across his face. He ignored the hollow ache that was developing in his belly, focusing his attention instead on the spring in front of him.

 

The center of the pool was disturbed by the strong upward flow of the water as it gushed through the shadowy cracks in the rock at the bottom. When Kirk peered down he could just make out the the jagged mouth of dark stone, until his focus shifted to the surface of the pool. The gently roiling water distorted the reflection of the trees and sky above, painting a beautiful but eerie picture of the woods around him.

 

Kirk’s thoughts continued to drift lethargically until a strange sound caught his attention.

 

He almost didn’t understand what he was hearing at first and turned his head to stare in confusion toward the noise. It came again, a high whizzing sound followed by the clatter of rock.

 

Someone was shooting a particle weapon.

 

Kirk leapt to his feet, clutching the spear tight in his hand, and ran toward the noise. It was coming from the same direction Spock had gone, just north of their shelter.

 

He recognized the sound of a Cadoan plasma rifle and found himself silently pleading, begging the universe to keep Spock safe until he could arrive. Kirk reached for Spock in his mind. He found Spock there, a raging swirl of murderous intent and blind fury that split and shattered with fear at the touch of Kirk’s mind. Kirk nearly stumbled when he felt Spock’s will hit him like a blow, urging him back the way he had come, warning him away from danger.

 

Kirk crouched as he ran, moving from tree to tree as he heard the sound of voices just ahead. He crept closer and saw two Cadoan men facing the rock shelf, one of them aiming his weapon in front of him. Pressed up against the rock wall was Spock. His chest was heaving, and his arms spread out as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, eyes searching frantically for an escape route that wasn’t there.

 

Kirk’s hands shook as he clutched his spear. He closed his eyes, gathering his strength and feeling for Spock through the link, desperate to be near him somehow. If he made a mistake Spock would die. He let out a slow breath of air and opened his eyes.

 

For a moment Spock’s eyes locked with his, having sought him out among the trees. Spock’s face fell and misery poured through the link. Kirk had managed to sneak up quite close to the Cadoans, and Spock’s worry for Kirk was piercing.

 

Kirk had to act.

 

Three things happened in quick succession: Kirk leapt from behind a tree with his spear raised, Spock threw himself forward, and the Cadoan fired his weapon.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post [this drawing](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/102498252996/hiking-for-my-feral-spock-story-undone) with the last chapter, but my brain is turning to mush due to the head cold that will not die! Art for this chapter can be found [here](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/103476152911/the-lake-for-my-story-undone).
> 
> Sorry about the cliffhanger! =) As soon as I finish the story I'm working on for the [Old Married Spirk Challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/oldmarriedspirk) I'll be able to focus more on Undone and should be able to post a little faster. Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay; there was a tragedy in the family.

Kirk lunged at the Cadoan holding the weapon, spear raised. The other Cadoan caught the movement and whirled around, but Kirk was already plunging the spear into the alien’s broad back.

 

The Cadoans Kirk had seen in the city had been wearing armor, but these two had apparently removed theirs, perhaps finding it too cumbersome on their hike. The only resistance the spear met was the thick but quickly pierced fabric and the bones of the alien’s rib cage, which snapped and collapsed inward as Kirk threw his weight into the thrust.

 

As the wounded Cadoan toppled, Kirk caught sight of Spock springing to his feet from where he’d rolled to the ground. His heart throbbed with joy even as the other Cadoan charged Kirk, slashing out with a large, curved knife.

 

Spock impacted the Cadoan, hitting it heavily in its thick midsection, and Kirk felt the faintest touch of air against his throat as the blade whooshed past him. The two hit the ground hard, the blade falling from the Cadoan’s hand and the impact knocking them apart. Spock was quickly on his feet, the Cadoan gaining his only a moment later. They charged each other.

 

Spock swung his fist with bone-shattering force into the Cadoan’s chest, and the roar he let out sent a chill through Kirk. The Cadoan landed a blow to Spock’s face that snapped his head back, but Spock struck again, crushing the Cadoan’s windpipe and then wrapping his fingers around the pasty white throat. He rushed forward until the Cadoan was pinned to a tree, and with his free hand he began to pummel the alien’s body with uncontrolled violence.

 

Spittle flew from Spock’s lips and his face contorted in a savage snarl. He seemed oblivious to the world around him, deaf to Kirk’s pleas for him to stop. Kirk stumbled toward him, as grieved by Spock’s brutality as he had been down in the city.

 

“Spock! Stop! That’s enough!” Kirk cried, catching Spock’s wrist. He was yanked forward when Spock landed yet another blow to the alien’s ribcage.

 

Blue blood was oozing from the alien’s mouth and its head drooped forward, stringy white hair falling into its face. Spock raised this fist to strike the Cadoan again but Kirk caught his arm with both hands this time and let his knees buckle so that the weight of his body dragged it down.

 

“Spock, please. We’re safe now. You don’t have to do this,” he pleaded.

 

Spock stilled and Kirk released his wrist, snaking an arm across Spock’s chest and pulling him closer. “Spock, look at me. Look at me!”

 

Spock slowly turned his head, reluctantly meeting Kirk’s eyes. He was breathing heavily and his body was impossibly tense, but his rage seemed to slowly melt away. He sagged a little, his face going blank. Spock dropped his hands to his sides and the lifeless Cadoan fell to the ground.

 

Spock remained there, one of Kirk’s arms around him, while his breathing slowly evened out and his body relaxed. He was still looking into Kirk’s eyes when the Cadoan Kirk had felled with the spear let out a gurgling groan, fumbling with the weapon that was half under him. Spock’s face showed no expression as he turned and went to the Cadoan, dropping down on one knee.

 

“Don’t…” came Kirk’s weak entreaty.

 

Spock snapped the Cadoan’s neck.

 

Kirk flinched at the sickening crunch and closed his eyes against the sight of slaughter around him. He let himself sink deep down into his own mind, heartsick and repulsed by what had just happened. He had hoped Spock was getting better, but it seemed that Spock’s mind was just as bestial and mangled as before. He thought of Spock, the way he had curled around Kirk in their nest, his touch warm and reverential, and he could not reconcile this pleasant memory with the scene he’d just witnessed. His head ached, and he pressed his hands to his face.

 

The touch against the back of his hand was whisper soft. Kirk lowered his hands and looked into a face that was no longer a blank mask. Brown eyes burned with yearning and uncertainty in a countenance speckled with droplets of blue, tiny and glinting like little sapphires.

 

Kirk remembered his own rampaging emotions as he’d plunged the spear through the alien who had tried to kill Spock. They’d had him helplessly backed up against a rock, as if toying with him, as if trying to draw out his fear for their pleasure.

 

But had it been that way? Kirk looked past Spock at the still form of the Cadoan, spear still jutting from its back. Something wasn’t right. The alien who had charged at him had been furious, true, but there had been something else in those wide gray eyes. He turned to examine the Cadoan crumpled against the tree. He had no weapon other than the curved knife. Why didn’t he have a plasma rifle, like his companion?

 

Further examination revealed other telling details. The lack of armor he had already noted, but they were both in a general state of disarray, clothes disheveled and skin dirty as if they had been fleeing up the mountain rather than pursuing.

 

His mind whirled at the implications. Where the Cadoans on the run? Had the Nghians found a way to defeat them and drive them back? And if so, would it be safe for Kirk and Spock to return to the city now?

 

Something in him warned against it. There was still too much he didn’t know, and he was unwilling to expose his already injured friend to even more risk. He was determined to protect him, to get him through this ordeal with no further damage, if that were possible.

 

He looked up to see that Spock was still staring at him, stiff with apprehension, as if he was waiting to see what Kirk would do. Kirk sighed and pulled him into an embrace. He was relieved that Spock hadn’t been killed, even though it had meant the death of the two aliens who had attacked them. Killing was abhorrent to him but the thought of Spock dying was even more so.

 

They pulled away from each other at the same time, as if having reached some silent understanding, and looked around. Kirk moved over to the Cadoan he had felled and pulled the spear out of its back, throwing it to the ground.

 

Spock was eying the fallen alien suspiciously, a look of concentration on his face, as if he was trying to remember something. It was then that Kirk heard it. There was a faint noise coming from the alien, similar to the sound of a weapon powering up. But the sound dragged out, growing higher and higher.

 

He saw the plasma rifle sticking out from under the Cadoan’s chest and lifted the alien up, dragging the rifle out to examine it. He couldn’t understand what the blinking symbols on the small display meant, but as the weapon started to heat in his hands he suddenly understood that it was going to blow.

 

The Cadoan must have managed to activate a self-destruct mechanism on the weapon before Spock had snapped its neck.

 

Kirk jumped to his feet with a curse and Spock rushed to his side. Kirk shoved Spock away from him with all of his strength, and summoning up the fiercest tone of command he could manage, yelled, “Stay here!”

 

Kirk turned and ran, hoping the alarm he had seen in Spock’s eyes meant that he had been cowed into obeying Kirk.

 

The noise from the weapon was becoming loud and piercing and Kirk knew his time was nearly up. It wouldn’t be enough to just throw it away from himself and run.

 

They had come across some drop-offs and ravines when they had been searching for shelter, and it was toward one of these that Kirk ran now, hoping his sense of direction would not fail him. He couldn’t be sure what kind of blast the weapon would generate, how deadly the shock wave, but he hoped that if it detonated before he could dispose of it that Spock would be safe, at least.

 

For a brief eternity he accepted that he was going to die. Then, climbing upward, he saw the ridge of a rocky precipice just a little off his current course. He could tell that the drop was not significant but it would have to do.

 

As he came up on the edge he tossed the rifle, watching it soar out and then fall down out of sight. Three seconds later he heard a clatter.

 

Kirk turned to run and crashed right into Spock, knocking them both to the ground. They rolled, one over the other, for a short distance and had less than two seconds to stare into each other’s eyes before the Cadoan rifle exploded.

 

They clapped their hands over their ears as the ground beneath them shuddered and a booming explosion rained heated rocks and dirt down on them. Dust billowed up in a great, swirling plume, obscuring the world around them. The force of the blast seemed to reverberate through their bones, and they curled in on each other, clutching with trembling hands.

 

Kirk’s ears were ringing loudly and he was disoriented, so it took him longer than it should have to realize that he was relatively uninjured. Spock gave his head a little shake and Kirk was sure his sensitive Vulcan hearing must have been damaged as well. By the time they finally stood up the ringing sound had faded somewhat, but they leaned on each other for balance.

 

Kirk thought about reprimanding Spock for following him but decided that it would be pointless.

 

He led Spock in the direction of the rock shelf, but when they came upon the bodies of the aliens Kirk stopped, letting out a long, weary breath.

 

“We need to move them. They’re too close to the shelter,” Kirk said, his voice low, resigned.

 

Kirk walked over to the Cadoan against the tree and squatted down to grab him by the boots. He began to tug and in a moment Spock joined him, lifting the limp body under the arms while Kirk supported the legs. In this way they carried the body away from the shelter, keeping north even when it meant bearing their burden uphill.

 

Kirk might have kept going, ignoring the unpleasant burning in his muscles, but Spock finally stopped, dropping the alien with a resolute thud. Spock turned and began walking back and Kirk followed him.

 

They moved the other alien in the same way, laying him alongside his companion and then stepping back. Spock seemed ready to go, but Kirk felt uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the bodies exposed, even if the aliens had tried to kill them.

 

It seemed…uncivilized.

 

He couldn’t bury them, having nothing he could efficiently dig with, but he turned and looked up the rocky slope, knowing what he needed to do. If the area was more unstable he might have been able to trigger a small avalanche of rock and dirt, but he’d have to settle for the more laborious option of moving rocks little by little to cover the bodies.

 

Kirk grabbed the legs of a Codaon and began to drag him toward a slight dip at the base of the rocky hill, relieved when Spock came to his aid without having to be asked. They moved the other one and Kirk sat down on the ground above them and began to shove with his feet at the loose dirt and gravel until it pattered down on the bodies.

 

When he’d covered them as much as he could that way, he began to collect rocks and place them on top of the Cadoans. Spock merely watched him at first, his face unreadable. But when Kirk stumbled, collapsing under the weight of the large, flat stone he was carrying Spock rushed to his side.

 

Spock was obviously displeased. He hoisted Kirk to his feet and tried to pull him away from his task.

 

“Spock, I need to do this, so either help me or get out of my way.” Kirk yanked his elbow out of Spock’s grasp.

 

For a moment they stared each other down, but then Spock’s shoulders sagged and he took the stone out of Kirk’s hands. He walked over to the bodies and set it atop the growing pile.

 

Kirk approached him, reaching out his hand. “Thank you,” he said, clasping Spock’s shoulder before getting back to work.

 

Together they covered the bodies with a mound of rocks, and even with Spock’s help Kirk was exhausted by the time they were done. He was also filthy again. They’d have to make another trip to the lake to wash off, though the only thing Kirk intended to do at the moment was rest.

 

Spock had the same idea, apparently, because he looped his arm around Kirk’s shoulders and pulled him in the direction of the shelter, urging Kirk with a press of his hand to lean into him. Kirk didn’t need to be persuaded and let himself be led, leaning heavily into Spock’s side and reaching an arm up his back to hold onto his shoulder.

 

When they reached the shelter Spock eased him inside and Kirk gratefully sank into their nest. Spock brought him water and a box from their rations and sat beside him as he ate.

 

Kirk offered Spock one of the biscuits but didn’t give it too much thought when Spock refused. He was too tired and emotionally drained to argue, so he finished his food, ignoring the hunger that still lingered as he gulped down the water. He dropped the empty water bottle over the edge of the nest and flopped down onto his side, curling an arm under his head.

 

He watched numbly as Spock ducked out from under the overhang and walked out of sight, looking determined. Some thirty minutes later he heard the rustling of needle-leaves and Spock came strolling through the trees, carrying Kirk’s spear and the water bottle he’d left at the spring. Tucked under his arm was the Cadoan’s curved blade.

 

Kirk sat up, stretching his stiff limbs, and leaned against the back wall while he observed Spock. He was relieved when Spock tucked the blade away in his bag where Kirk wouldn’t have to see it.

 

Spock laid down Kirk’s spear and then retrieved his own longer spear from near their packs before creeping out again. He stood still for a minute, raising his head as if scenting the air, and then turned to Kirk and raised his hand in the same motion he’d used at the spring.

 

Kirk knew Spock wanted him to stay in their shelter and was surprised at his own willingness to do so.

 

He watched Spock stride away, hoping he would be safe.

 

When he couldn’t stand the stillness anymore he got up, dug his knife out of his pack, and retrieved his spear. He studiously ignored the blue staining of the alien blood that Spock had obviously tried to clean away from the tip and focused on his new task. Kirk wasn’t sure if the fish in the lake were safe to eat but if they did decide to try and catch some he’d need a better tool for that purpose. With his knife he began to whittle away at the spear, carving a sharp barb into the tip that would hook a fish if plunged into it.

 

Kirk took his time, allowing himself to become completely absorbed in the activity. When he was satisfied with the result he laid the spear aside and paced restlessly back and forth along the rock shelf. His foot kicked a small chunk of wood and he stopped to scoop it up, admiring the dark and almost shimmering grain.

 

Something about the shape of the wood hooked his interest. After a moment of consideration he picked up his knife, sat just under the overhang, and began to carve.

 

Kirk was so absorbed by his new project that he was startled when Spock appeared at his side.

 

“Spock! You nearly scared the life out of me,” he said, his heart racing. He set down the knife and the piece of wood and continued, more calmly, “It’s been hours. Where have you been?”

 

Spock had the bottom of his shirt pulled up and something gathered inside the makeshift pouch. Kirk watched curiously as Spock went into the shelter and put down his spear, coming back out with an empty box. He dumped the contents of his pouch into the box, and Kirk saw that it was a few handfuls worth of white seeds peeking out of green, almond shaped shells. Spock plucked one out of the box, and before Kirk could say anything he pulled it open and ate the pale seed.

 

“What are you doing?” Kirk’s stomach dropped. He snatched the box away from Spock and stared at his friend in horror. “You can’t just eat things like that! These could be poisonous!”

 

Kirk jumped up, stalked away, and then came storming back, edging right up to Spock so that their faces were close together. “How many of these did you eat?”

 

Spock blinked at him. In an almost exasperated manner, he plucked another shell out of the box before Kirk could move away and opened it, popping the seed into his mouth.

 

Furious, Kirk took a step back and hid the box behind his back. “For the love of…stop doing that!”

 

They had taken a small risk in consuming the animal Spock had caught for them at the cave, but Kirk knew enough from the reports on Nghia that, based on his basic understanding of the biology of the life forms in this region, the risk was negligible. His basic knowledge did not, unfortunately, extend to the native flora.

 

He was terrified that Spock had made a fatal error, and he dreaded the next few hours while he waited to see if Spock experienced any ill-effects from consuming the seeds.

 

Spock seemed untroubled by the situation and almost perplexed by Kirk’s reaction, but Kirk was grateful when Spock finally backed away and made no more attempts to take seeds out of the box. Kirk took the box into the shelter and shoved it in his pack, coming back out with his arms crossed over his chest and a worried grimace on his face.

 

He sat back down with his little chunk of wood and his knife. Once he was settled he started carving again, trying to quell his anxiety by keeping his hands busy. He watched as Spock carried an armful of fresh needle-leaves under the overhang and added it to their nest, and he searched for any sign that might indicate that the Vulcan was becoming ill. As the day turned into evening the feeling of suspense eased into muted concern.

 

When Spock showed every sign of being as physically healthy as he had been before, Kirk’s worry turned to a kind of restless acceptance, though he was determined to keep a close eye on Spock.

 

The sky was vibrantly pink and purple when Kirk retreated into the shelter, storing his project in his pack. He went back out and emptied his bladder in the same area he’d used before, with Spock hovering nearby as had become his habit, and then he returned to the shelter and crawled into the nest. It was more cozy with the added padding and Kirk silently thanked Spock as he made himself comfortable.

 

When Spock joined him Kirk started to move for the bag to get food but Spock beat him to it, handing him a box and water as well. Kirk was ravenous and enthusiastically tore open the box, only mildly disappointed that it contained the same type of dry biscuits he’d had earlier. He was halfway through the meal when he realized Spock wasn’t eating. He offered Spock a couple pieces but Spock only shook his head.

 

“Come on, Spock. You have to eat something,” he urged, holding out the biscuits. He started to frown as something occurred to him. “You’re not feeling sick, are you?”

 

The thought stirred up his anxiety again, but Spock looked bright eyed and alert, so Kirk swallowed down his panic. He still didn’t like it that he wasn’t eating, even if Spock had told him on numerous occasions that Vulcans didn’t need to eat as frequently as humans.

 

Kirk offered him the biscuits again, refusing to drop his hand until Spock gave in and took them. Spock ate them but refused to take any more, no matter how much Kirk pestered him. Kirk finally sighed and finished off the rest. He allowed Spock to take the empty box and dispose of it while he leaned back against the wall and pulled the blankets over his legs.

 

The nights weren’t as cold as they had been when they’d been at the cave but it was still chilly, and when Spock sat down next to him, Kirk edged closer and wrapped the blankets around them both.

 

Kirk talked to Spock, relating anecdotes about his childhood and concerns and hopes he had for the _Enterprise_ crew. Spock watched him with a relaxed face and gleaming eyes until the darkness stole that image and Kirk turned to the world outside their nest. It was all shadows and the pale flush of moonlight against trees, and Kirk filled the dark with his thoughts. In that moment it wasn’t important if Spock responded or even understood, so long as he continued to listen.

 

When the dark began to feel oppressive Kirk moved for the bag so that he could get the lantern.

 

Spock caught him and gently but firmly drew him back into the nest, keeping one hand on Kirk’s chest so that he would not move again. Kirk started to question him but then thought that perhaps it would be better to go without the light for now. If there were more Cadoans lurking around they might spot it and find the shelter.

 

Somewhere out in the night they heard a screeching yowl that made Spock tense and the hairs rise on the back of Kirk’s neck. Kirk recognized the sound of a giant cat like the one that he had fought back at the cave, but it came from far away and they slowly relaxed when the eerie wail was not repeated.

 

Moving almost as one they laid out in the nest together, falling easily into a comfortable sleeping position. Spock nestled up against Kirk’s back, sheltering and possessive. Kirk leaned back against Spock, pulling Spock’s arm tighter around him as he faced outward, peering into the night.

 

It seemed the most natural thing in the universe to curl up with Spock. It felt easy, warm, and safe.

 

“Goodnight, Spock,” Kirk murmured.

 

There was a long silence, and then Spock whispered a word Kirk didn’t recognize.

 

“ _T’hy’la_ …”

 

*

 

Kirk woke the next morning with a feeling of complacency.

 

He stretched languidly and almost as soon as he sat up he hungrily consumed the fruity substance from the pouch Spock handed him. The paste had the consistency of applesauce but was more tangy, and he eagerly slurped it out of the pouch. It wasn’t until he had devoured the last drop of it that he noticed a strange pressure at the back of his thoughts. He squirmed a little, trying to identify the nagging feeling, but it eluded him.

 

He looked up at Spock and when Spock refused to meet his eyes Kirk reached toward the place in his mind where the link was. He came up against something enormous but contained. It was as if something large and unpleasant had been pulled under a shield but was slowly ballooning out into Kirk’s mind.

 

Spock was trying to hide something from him.

 

Kirk’s stomach flip-flopped and alarm bells rang in his head. He scrutinized Spock, afraid of finding some sign of illness in his friend, but the seeds he had eaten the day before did not seem to have made him sick. He looked healthy, if a little withdrawn.

 

When Spock pulled off his shirt, picked up his spear, and ducked out from under the overhang Kirk jumped from the nest and followed him.

 

“Spock,” Kirk said, grabbing Spock’s arm and turning him around. “What’s wrong?”

 

Spock stared at him blankly but Kirk wasn’t about to fall for that act. He wouldn’t let Spock retreat from him. Kirk reached up a hand and pressed it to the side of Spock’s head, his thumb stroking a high cheekbone.

 

“Spock…” Kirk urged.

 

Spock’s eyes fluttered closed and his mouth went slack. Kirk slid his hand so that his palm rested on Spock’s cheek and Spock sank into the touch, his defenses coming down just a little. It was enough for a tendril of emotion to slip through. It went zinging into Kirk like an electric shock and settled in his chest with a burning feeling.

 

Worry. A worry so heavy that even the little bit that had seeped into Kirk seemed to crush the breath out of him for a moment.

 

Spock jerked away from his hand and walked off toward the spring, leaving Kirk to grapple with his confusion and dismay alone.

 

Still a little breathless, he went back into the shelter and sank to the floor. For some reason his thoughts kept drifting back to the seeds Spock had collected and in a panic he snatched up his pack and opened it. The box didn’t appear to have been disturbed and when he looked inside there seemed to be the same amount of seeds as when he’d packed the box away.

 

Spock had eaten some of them in front of Kirk, but he had probably eaten more of them when he was collecting them.

 

Something occurred to Kirk and his heart sank.

 

Kirk hadn’t seen Spock eat anything the morning before. Kirk had eaten what Spock had given him and assumed that Spock had already had his breakfast. Then at lunch, Spock had refused food, though Kirk had been too tired at the time to make much of it. At dinner time Spock had eaten a couple of biscuits after Kirk pressured him but had not had anything else besides the seeds he had eaten. This morning Kirk had once again assumed that Spock must have already eaten, but now he wasn’t so sure.

 

Kirk got up and went to the bag that held their rations and opened it.

 

There was no more food left, only empty boxes. Kirk had eaten the last of the food for breakfast.

 

That was why Spock was worried.

 

Once Spock took over the bag of rations and started handing out the meals Kirk had somehow allowed himself to forget just how immediate the situation was. He had known. Kirk had known the food would run out soon, but now that it had happened he felt a surge of desperation that drove him out of the shelter into a fit of urgent pacing.

 

He started in the direction Spock had gone but stopped and walked back to the shelter. He was sure Spock had gone in search of food, and if Spock was hunting then the last thing he needed was Kirk crashing through the woods and scaring away any potential prey.

 

He paced back and forth a while longer and then sat down, his mind still a flurry of activity.

 

Should they try returning to the city now? Kirk knew that doing so was a risk. Just because they’d encountered two Cadoans who seemed to be in bad shape did not mean that the war was over and the Nghians had won. And even if the Cadoans had been driven away Kirk couldn’t be sure that there weren’t traces of the chemical still lingering in the city.

 

He would not expose Spock to that. Watching Spock collapse as his mind shattered was not something Kirk could bear to see again.

 

The minimum amount of time Kirk had estimated it would take for Starfleet to send reinforcements had nearly elapsed, so he resolved to reconsider their options in a day or two. For now, they would remain where they were. They could scavenge for food in the meantime.

 

Satisfied with his decision Kirk pulled his carving project out of his pack and sat back down outside the shelter. Just because there was nothing productive he could do at the moment didn’t mean he had to remain idle.

 

The chunk of wood in his hand was starting to really take shape when Kirk took a break to drink water. He lingered over the box of seeds but then dismissed it, closing the pack and going for a short walk to stretch his legs and relieve himself.

 

When he finished with his project he sat down and quietly watched the woods as he waited for Spock to get back.

 

Approximately three hours after Spock had left he finally returned, empty-handed but for the spear. The look of dejection he wore made Kirk’s heart clench and he immediately went to his friend.

 

“Spock, come here. I want to show you something,” Kirk said, nodding at the shelter. Spock followed him in, crouching down beside him while he dug into his pack. Kirk pulled out the carving and presented it to Spock.

 

“I finished it about an hour ago. What do you think?”

 

Spock took it, but then caught Kirk’s hand and examined the small cuts on his fingers with open disapproval.

 

Kirk pulled his hand away. “It’s just a few scratches, nothing serious. I never did figure out what to use as a handle for the knife. Well, do you like it?”

 

Spock looked down at the small carving. He ran his finger around the edge of the roughly circular primary hull and then traced it along the secondary hull. The support pylons weren’t as long as they should have been, but they branched off into what were clearly the warp nacelles of the tiny starship. Kirk had even scratched the ship’s registry number on top of the saucer.

 

Kirk reached over and tapped the circular bump that represented the bridge.

 

“On the bridge of the _Enterprise_ ; that’s where we’ll be soon. You and I, where we belong,” Kirk promised, gripping Spock’s wrist. Spock was watching Kirk searchingly but dropped his eyes to the carving as though lost in thought.

 

Kirk’s breath caught in his throat when something that looked like understanding flickered in Spock’s eyes, lighting up his whole face. Kirk edged closer, still holding onto Spock’s wrist, and said in a low, urgent voice, “Spock. What is it?”

 

Spock’s eyes widened and he retreated backward, nearly tumbling over in his crouched position, his wrist slipping out of Kirk’s hand. He stared straight ahead as though he could suddenly see everything that had been and the vision was too much, blinding him.

 

“ _Vokau nash-veh_ …” he whispered, moving back until he encountered rock. He slumped down and wrapped his arms around his knees.

 

“Spock! What’s wrong? Talk to me,” Kirk said, trying to keep his voice calm. He moved closer to Spock but didn’t touch him, even when Spock’s tormented eyes met his and Spock shuddered.

 

Kirk felt a wave of pain and confusion wash into him through the link, and by the time his head cleared Spock was breathing in deep gasps. Kirk wanted to take him in his arms and comfort him, but he somehow sensed that that was not what Spock needed, that the stimulus would further agitate him. Kirk settled for moving a little closer and placing a hand on the rock wall next to Spock, leaning so that their heads were close but not touching. For several long minutes Spock seemed locked in some intense struggle in his mind.

 

Kirk was about to speak again when the outpouring of emotions through the link stopped so abruptly that it startled Kirk.

 

Spock looked up, his expression vacant. He got up, slowly unfolding from his sitting position, and moved out into the sunlight. When Kirk joined him he saw that Spock was gazing at the carving in his hand, turning it over and over in his palm. He looked down at his uniform shirt and caught a dangling strip of ripped fabric along the bottom edge and wrapped it around the carving, tying it off so that the little ship was attached and would not be lost.

 

As if nothing had happened, he started walking toward the spring, stopping to look back at Kirk and nod in indication that Kirk should follow him. Kirk did, a little stunned by the whole situation. He could have sworn he saw recognition in Spock’s eyes as he’d looked at the carving, and hearing Spock speak again had been incredible, but now it was as if he had just shut down.

 

It was a common misconception that Vulcans didn’t have emotions but Kirk knew this to be false. With Spock’s control gone he was ruled by his powerful Vulcan emotions, the same turbulent feelings that had nearly driven the Vulcan race to the brink of total destruction before they turned to logic. With his mind in such turmoil could Spock even process a lifetime of memories that were rooted in logic? Would he ever regain the control that was an integral part of who he was?

 

Kirk followed after Spock, worried for his friend but relieved that he seemed to have recovered from whatever had shaken him so badly. Kirk could still feel the worry seeping through, but it was more subdued than it had been before. Spock’s movements were more casual, as though he was determined to distract himself, or Kirk, from their troubles.

 

Kirk was surprised when Spock passed by the spring pool and followed the stream to the rocky edge of the lake.

 

Spock stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on a boulder, and then edged into the water. When the water was up to his waist he turned and lifted a hand, urging Kirk to join him. They were on the narrow end of the lake where the water was shallow and clear, with no lake weeds to conceal potentially dangerous creatures. Spock seemed to think it was safe and that was good enough for Kirk.

 

Unable to resist the sight of Spock standing in the water as if he didn’t know what to do with himself, Kirk quickly pulled off his clothes and splashed in.

 

Kirk laughed when Spock continued to stand with his arms pulled up nearly to his shoulders, hands hovering over his chest. He looked almost scandalized when Kirk tried to get him to lower himself completely under the water. When leading by example didn’t work Kirk’s mischievous side kicked in and he finally just wrapped his arms around Spock and toppled them both over, sinking them beneath the surface.

 

Kirk was grateful to see that the lingering smears of Cadoan blood had been washed away after the dunking. He let Spock go and watched in fond amusement as the disgruntled Vulcan retreated to the shore and sat on a rock, only his feet submerged in the water.

 

Kirk explored this shallow stretch of lake, picking up stones from the bottom that caught his eye and trying to catch a few gold, minnow-like fish with his hands. He floated himself on his back, gazing up at the cloudless sky, and then turned his head to see Spock watching him with an almost tender expression on his face. It was the most at peace Kirk had seen him look since this ordeal began, and the sight filled him with a luminous joy that seemed to permeate his entire being.

 

He’d do anything to keep that look of warm contentment on Spock’s face.

 

Kirk had admitted to himself that he cared deeply for Spock, but when had Spock’s happiness become so essential to his own? He didn’t have very much time to wonder about this because when he glanced up he noticed that Spock was shivering. There was a slight chill in the air—he wondered if the temperature would start dropping again—but all of Kirk’s activity had kept him from feeling cold.

 

“You should have put your clothes back on,” Kirk gently scolded as he waded through the water toward Spock. Spock just smiled serenely at Kirk as he approached, as if he was unaware of anything but the man in front of him. Kirk came to a stop and assumed a casual pose, resting a hand on his hip and glancing back at the still surface of the lake. “This was a good idea, Spock. I needed this.”

 

When he looked at Spock again he was pleased to see Spock give him a gentle nod of his head. Kirk grinned and jumped out of the water, cursing under his breath when a cool breeze swept over his wet skin. He picked up the bundle of Spock’s clothes and shoved them at the Vulcan. He shook himself off as best he could before hurriedly struggling into his own clothes, skin still damp.

 

When they were both dressed, Kirk led them on a trip to explore the other side of the lake, determined to remain distracted and keep up the lively mood.

 

Kirk’s plan to keep their minds off of their troubles was disrupted when he grew dizzy while clambering over a log and slipped, falling to his hands and knees. Spock was at his side in an instant and helped him back to his feet, his worry crashing into Kirk’s mind.

 

The meals he’d been eating had not been enough and his body was starting to weaken. Spock had eaten less than he had and was holding up admirably, so Kirk straightened himself up, dusted off his pants, and shrugged off the woozy feeling in his head.

 

Spock was not satisfied with his apparent recovery and slowly led him back to the shelter. Kirk allowed Spock to support him as his footing become uncertain, all of his pride draining away as his body finally revolted over the poor treatment it had received recently.

 

Spock led him all the way to the nest and watched him climb in. When Kirk was settled he pulled the box of seeds out of Kirk’s pack, bringing it over to him. He opened the box and handed it to Kirk, his eyes pleading.

 

Kirk took the box but kept his eyes on Spock. His normally angular features were now even more gaunt and sharp, and his grim demeanor gave him the appearance of someone beaten down by time and illness. Kirk wanted to ease his worry, to see him smile again.

 

Kirk didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. The seeds hadn’t made Spock ill and he knew that Spock wouldn’t do anything to put his life in danger. Kirk briefly wondered how Spock knew the seeds were safe, but he sensed that Spock was sure that they were and would not be satisfied until Kirk had something to eat. He began to break open the shells, collecting a little pile of seeds, and with Spock’s help he soon had a handful. When all the shells had been broken open Kirk divided the pile in two, not eating his own pile until Spock accepted his portion.

 

Kirk ate the small handful of seeds, drank from the water bottle Spock offered him, and laid down in their nest, his stomach twisting painfully around the meager meal.

 

They would have to go in search of food soon, but for the moment, Kirk needed to rest.

 

Spock tucked a blanket around him and Kirk closed his eyes, knowing Spock would keep watch over him. As his thoughts grew sleepy he decided it wasn’t so bad letting Spock take care of him every now and then.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vokau nash-veh..._ \- I remember...
> 
> My Twitter account can be found [here](https://twitter.com/cmdrspockette). I post some personal stuff, but I also talk about my writing projects so it's a good way to know what I'm working on and when I will be posting. I hope everyone is doing well, and I thank you for continuing to read my story. =)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit dark at the end, and is where the 'attempted rape' tag comes into play. If you want to ask me any questions about the chapter before reading it please don't hesitate to email me: ra.amok at gmail.

When Kirk woke from his nap an hour and half later, Spock was shifting impatiently next to him, arms wrapped around his knees and fingers twitching against his legs. Though he hated to see Spock so disquieted, Kirk couldn’t help but grin at the sight of a fidgety Vulcan.

 

Spock’s hands stopped moving when he saw that Kirk was awake, and he sat up straight. He handed Kirk a water bottle and slipped out of the nest, calmer but brimming with a determination that flowed steadily into Kirk.

 

Kirk watched curiously as Spock dug around for an empty box and then picked up his spear, gesturing with his hand that Kirk should follow him before ducking out from under the shelter. Kirk took his time following, stretching his limbs and rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his muscles.

 

“What’s the plan, Spock?” Kirk asked, moving from beneath the rock. When Spock cocked his head Kirk grinned and added, “You’ve obviously got something in mind.” He stopped in front of Spock and stretched again. He groaned as his joints creaked and planted a hand on his hip.

 

Spock eyed him gravely for a moment, unmoved by Kirk’s ostensible good-humor, and then shocked Kirk with the terse command, “Come.”

 

Before Kirk could respond to the sudden and surprising verbalization Spock turned and stalked off into the woods. Feeling both frustrated and excited, Kirk dashed back into the shelter to get his backpack and some water and hurried after Spock.

 

Spock had obviously slowed his pace so that Kirk could catch up, but as soon as Kirk drew even with him Spock started moving faster. Every stride of his long legs was smooth and deliberate, and Kirk stumbled along beside him, unwilling to fall behind even if it meant scrambling to keep up.

 

Kirk was grateful when Spock led him downhill and looked around in interest as they veered away from the area around lake. Kirk hadn’t explored very far in this direction, but judging by the precise path Spock cut through the trees this was an area he had scouted out during one of his solo trips.

 

The ground began to level out and Kirk recognized the area as the stretch of woody copse opposite the side of the lake they had explored the day before. Spock’s steps grew shorter and more careful as he picked his way through the thickening underbrush, his eyes sharp and searching.

 

Kirk had no doubt he was searching for food, and wondered if there were more of the seeds to be gathered.

 

He followed quietly, his eyes seeking out anything that might be edible while unconsciously testing the mind-link to assure himself of Spock’s wellbeing. It was becoming second nature for him to assess Spock’s moods through the bond, and he was relieved when his intuitive mind sensed no distress from the Vulcan, allowing his focus to remain on the hunt for food.

 

Kirk had stopped to lean against a tree when a large insect flew at his head, buzzing angrily. It resembled an overgrown wasp, only with much larger antennae, and its exoskeleton glistened an alarming shade of vibrant indigo. The wasp pelted his head and Kirk ducked down, flinging his arms protectively over his face. His foot caught on a vine and he started to fall, but strong arms caught him and he felt himself being dragged away, his boots scraping through the leaves and the dirt.

 

Once he was back on his feet, Spock still holding his shoulders to steady him, he looked back at the tree to see that the insect was flying in quick spirals where he had been standing.

 

“I guess this is one of those universal constants. Wasps are hostile no matter what planet they’re on.” Kirk smiled wryly.

 

Spock caught his eye and pointed up at the tree, where Kirk saw a large dome of what looked like dried mud clinging to the bark. Kirk’s stomach dropped as he saw that the bottom end of the nest was swarming with a writhing mass of the winged insects. He turned to Spock, still feeling a little off-balance after grasping the extent of the disaster he had narrowly escaped, to see that Spock was glaring with open loathing at the nest.

 

“Friends of yours?” Kirk inquired, downplaying his horror for Spock’s sake.

 

Spock’s only reply was to exhale sharply through his nose.

 

They started off again, Kirk keeping closer to Spock.

 

He scanned the brush and stopped in his tracks when something crimson caught his eye. Around a tall tree was a patch of thorny brambles dotted with round, smooth-skinned berries. They looked plump and delicious to his hungry eyes, and the rich color brought to mind red wine.

 

There was no way he could know if they were edible without a tricorder, but he plucked one from its short stem and examined it out of curiosity. He held it up level with his eyes and his insides twisted with hunger.

 

A hand clamped around his wrist in a vise-like grip and squeezed until he dropped the berry. Kirk pulled back with a curse, but Spock didn’t let him go, instead crowding up against him, eyes burning into his. Spock gave his wrist a sharp shake, his face pale and angry.

 

He shook his head slowly at Kirk. “No.”

 

“Alright! I get it!” Kirk snapped, wrenching free. “I wasn’t going to eat it, Spock. I was just looking.”

 

Kirk rubbed at his wrist, his face hot and his stomach churning. He was still burning with resentment when he noticed that Spock’s posture had loosened, his expression becoming distinctly unhappy. Kirk felt an inexplicable pain in his chest and realized that worry was once again seeping through the bond, shot through with sorrow.

 

“Let’s keep looking,” Kirk said, not angry anymore but too tired to offer comfort.

 

They started walking again and Kirk slapped at his neck when something bit into his skin. He wondered if this planet had mosquitoes, and decided it must have some kind of equivalent as he scratched at the little bump that rose up. Nothing else bit him though, and after wandering for what must have been half an hour, Spock finally found what he was looking for.

 

Spock strode over to a tree and bent down to pick up something that was nestled between two exposed roots. Kirk moved closer and saw that Spock was holding what resembled an elongated pine cone. The thick scales were open and widely spaced, revealing the little shelled seeds Kirk recognized as the same kind he’d eaten the day before. Even if they collected a box full of them it wouldn’t be enough to fill both their bellies, but it was a start.

 

Spock knocked the cone against the inside of the box he was carrying, and Kirk heard a soft pattering sound as the seeds shook loose and fell to the bottom of the container. Spock plucked out any remaining seeds and dropped them in the box, and tossed the cone away.

 

Kirk eagerly began to search out the cones, shaking loose the seeds and adding them to the box. After much searching they were able to gather a few handfuls worth of seeds, but neither of them were satisfied and they ranged out further in search of more.

 

Their foraging brought them nearly to the edge of the stream that had led them to the lake, and it was there that Spock made a fortuitous discovery. Scattered among the low grass were plants with long, narrow leaves rising out from a central stalk and drooping to the ground. The stalk itself was made up of thick, overlapping white leaves with purple edges that formed a tall teardrop shape. Spock nearly spilled the box of seeds in his excitement as he dropped down next to one of the plants and without any preamble yanked the mass of white leaves free.

 

Holding up what looked like a teardrop shaped white cabbage Spock hurried over to Kirk and placed the plant in his hands. When Kirk merely gave Spock a speculative look in response Spock clutched at the plant and pulled loose one of the leaves, holding it in front of Kirk’s face. The shape reminded Kirk of a little boat and that thought jogged his memory.

 

On their first day on Nghia they had attended a formal dinner and among the many dishes of vegetarian fare there had been a plate of white, boat shaped leaves filled with colorful globs of fruit salad. Kirk was certain the plants they had just found were the same kind that had been served at the dinner and therefore would be safe to eat.

 

That must be why Spock had been so certain of the seeds. He must remember them from before. How far back did his memories go now? Kirk wanted Spock to talk to him about it, let him know what he knew, and if Spock’s verbal abilities kept improving he might be able to soon.

 

Grinning from ear to ear, he slipped the teardrop cabbage into his pack and Spock visibly sagged with relief, obviously glad he wouldn’t have to fight to convince Kirk to eat this food.

 

They began searching for more, and though many of the stalks were small and not ready to be picked, they did manage to find a few.

 

They stored the plants in the pack and made for the lake. Since they were so close anyway they might as well stop off there so they could wash their food before they ate it. Kirk was feeling much more optimistic, and was pleased that Spock seemed to be in a more relaxed mood.

 

When they reached the lake they walked the shoreline until they came to the clearer water where they had gone swimming earlier, and they stopped to rest. Kirk pulled out the teardrop cabbages and began to clean them, dunking them and wiping away any clinging dirt or particles. He shook the water off of them and put them back in the pack, keeping out two of them and handing one to Spock.

 

Spock sat down next to him and reached over to tug at one of Jim’s boots until it slipped off. It only took him a moment to divine Spock’s intention, and he removed his other boot and his socks, plunging his sore feet into the cool water. Spock did the same, giving Kirk a pleased look.

 

They began to pull apart the leaves, munching on them hungrily. The leaves were juicy and slightly sweet, with a faintly bitter aftertaste, and Kirk had to admit to himself that they were not bad. They were certainly better than nothing, Kirk decided, shoving nearly a whole leaf into his mouth at once.

 

When they were finished Kirk pulled out the box and they each ate a handful of seeds, tossing the shells away and chewing slowly to savor the pleasant flavor and prolong the meal.

 

They drank from the bottle of water, and after allowing their feet to dry for a while in the crisp, cool air, they put their boots back on.

 

Kirk stood, offering Spock his hand. “Let’s head back to the shelter.”

 

Kirk estimated that there were a couple of hours of sunlight left and would have liked to keep himself busy exploring, but he knew it was foolish to expend energy when that energy could not be easily replenished by a more reliable food supply. Spock seemed pleased when Kirk headed toward the spring, and he fell into step behind him, content to let Kirk lead for the moment.

 

They were nearly to the shelter when Kirk heard the sharp rustling of leaves behind him. He turned to see Spock freeze for a moment as a large, reddish brown lizard slithered up the tree next to him. Spock pounced in an almost involuntary response to the creature, catching it with both hands. He snapped its neck and stood still, looking almost surprised by the dead reptile in his hands.

 

Kirk laughed outright at Spock’s bewildered expression, slapping his thighs and wiping at his eyes.

 

Part of his humor could be attributed to the woozy delirium of an exhausted body, but something in Spock’s actions reminded him of the way a cat would react to a tight beam of moving light: focused, intense, and utterly unable to restrain itself.

 

When Kirk straightened back up, still chuckling softly, Spock raised a haughty eyebrow at him and returned his attention to the lizard. He eyed it pensively, frowning slightly as though trying to capture an errant thought.

 

Kirk stilled, becoming serious as he realized that Spock was probably trying to draw on his faded memories in an attempt to determine if this creature was safe to eat. Kirk found the idea of eating the scaly lizard unappealing. But his body needed the nourishment, and if it was edible he wouldn’t hesitate to consume it.

 

Spock turned to Kirk and hesitantly handed the lizard to him.

 

“Are you sure?” Kirk asked.

 

Spock’s eyes were large and sober when he nodded his head in affirmation. Kirk nodded back, understanding that Spock was not completely certain, and they both turned and continued on to the shelter.

 

Once they got back Spock gathered wood for a fire, and Kirk climbed up to the top of the rock shelf above their shelter, where the unobstructed sunlight would allow him to use the magnifying lens to light the kindling he collected. Once the fire was going Kirk prepared the lizard, skewering it on a stick while both aching with famishment and shaking with a roiling nausea. He hadn’t said a word to Spock, both of them quiet and grim, lost to their own ruminations.

 

The sun had fallen behind the mountain, but the sky was still ablaze with vibrant light when Kirk decided the lizard was done.

 

Seeing Kirk settle away from the fire, Spock came over and took the lizard from him, gingerly clutching the end of the stick. The skin was crispy, and after blowing on the small carcass Spock broke away one of the hind legs and lifted it to his lips. He took a bite, chewing it thoughtfully, and then spit out a bit of the flaky, darkened skin before swallowing.

 

Kirk watched him, trying not to grimace, and then reached out to pull off a piece for himself. To his surprise, Spock jerked back, holding the lizard out of his reach.

 

Spock seemed distracted and took another small bite, chewing it more slowly. When he turned his gaze to Kirk he seemed to be considering. Kirk knew Spock was unsure, but he must have been at least somewhat certain about the lizard or he wouldn’t have given it to Kirk to cook.

 

He was just being overly cautious, Kirk decided.

 

“Spock, if you’re eating it then I’m eating it too,” Kirk said, reaching his hand out. Spock seemed to want to wait, probably to see if the meat caused him to feel ill at all, but Kirk kept his hand outstretched until Spock relented and handed him the stick. They sat down close together and peeled away the burned pieces of skin, eating every bit of meat they could find.

 

Kirk found the taste to be somewhere between chicken and crab, bland but tolerable. Though the small meal seemed to whet his appetite more than sate it, he was grateful to have something heartier than leaves or seeds in his stomach.

 

They smothered the fire and climbed back down the rock shelf to their shelter. Kirk let himself drop the last half meter to the ground and was mortified when his aching knees gave out and he landed with a thud on his rump. Spock, who had gone down first, lifted Kirk to his feet and then stood back a little to examine him.

 

“Jim?” he softly inquired.

 

“Fine. I’m fine. Just a little tired and clumsy,” Kirk insisted. He stretched languidly, trying to project contentment, but he couldn’t help but cringe when a muscle in his lower back twinged painfully.

 

“I’m good,” Kirk said a little too quickly.

 

Kirk couldn’t help but smile at Spock’s incredulous expression, and allowed himself to be pulled back to the shelter without protestation. He didn’t say anything when Spock sat him down just under the overhang and he only briefly considered questioning Spock when the Vulcan settled behind him. Any inquiries swiftly died on his tongue when he felt strong hands press into the sore muscles of his back. There was a moment of sharp pain and then the profound pleasure of tension falling away as his muscles relaxed into that deft touch.

 

Kirk moaned loudly, grateful and unashamed as Spock’s hands rubbed in deep, relaxing circles up his back.

 

“Oh, that’s it. Push. Push hard,” Kirk encouraged, his head dropping toward his chest. “Dig it in there, Spock.”

 

Kirk moaned again, the sound tapering off into what Kirk would never admit was certainly a whimper. His arms were limp at his sides and he felt as if he was melting, Spock’s touch setting his nerve endings buzzing with a warm, pleasant electricity. He didn’t want it to stop, but when the sky finally faded to black Spock’s hands dropped away and Kirk fell back against him, too relaxed to even hold himself up.

 

After a few long minutes Kirk became aware of a pressure against his lower back and it took him longer than it should have to realize that Spock was hard.

 

Kirk thought that the situation should have felt awkward, but strangely, the knowledge that Spock was turned on by their physical contact did not bother him. In fact, he found that he was perfectly at ease and an answering desire began to stir in him, filling him with a lazy yearning as he sank deeper into Spock’s firm, welcoming embrace.

 

Except for the gentle movements of his chest, Spock remained still, as though he was afraid of alarming Kirk with any sudden movements.

 

Kirk wondered what he would do if Spock did decide to move, to press Kirk for more. What would he do then, if Spock tried to satisfy his desire? Would he turn him down? It was obvious that Spock was starting to get his memory back, but was he really aware of what kind of step he would be taking by starting a sexual relationship with his Captain?

 

Kirk wanted to believe that Spock was cognizant enough to make such a decision. He wanted to believe it because _he wanted Spock_.

 

It took a great deal of effort for Kirk to pull away from Spock, but he felt dazed and tired and he wouldn’t allow himself to make any important decisions in such a state. Kirk stood up and clasped Spock’s shoulder before turning and going into the shelter. It was dark under the overhang so Kirk dug out the lantern and turned it on, relieved that the battery wasn’t yet drained.

 

When Kirk turned around Spock was slouched over with his hands on his knees, watching him from just inside the overhang. Spock seemed to understand that Kirk had rejected the idea of physical intimacy with him and had quietly accepted this, though there was something distant in his expression.

 

Kirk climbed into the nest and sat against the wall, patting the spot next to him. When Spock joined him Kirk gathered up blankets and draped them across their legs, taking note of the definite chill in the air.

 

They sat in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts, and, as if by tacit agreement, neither made a move to seek the physical comfort of the other as they had become accustomed to doing. Kirk had the sense that Spock had withdrawn into himself, and when he looked inward toward the link he found nothing but the echo of something raw and messy, like discordant music coming from far away. Kirk turned to him and gave him a reassuring smile, wanting to draw him back, and was pleased when Spock’s eyes warmed somewhat in response.

 

When Kirk finally reached over and switched off the lantern they stretched out next to each other, close but not quite touching. The lack of contact made Kirk subtly uneasy but he maintained the distance, eventually drifting off to into a fitful sleep.

 

For hours he hovered on the edge of waking, but eventually, twisting restlessly under the blankets, he sank into dreams.

 

*

 

_Kirk sat up and looked around his quarters in surprise, the hum of the ship seeming to vibrate in his bones. He struggled to remember what their current mission was but his mind was strangely blank. He knew that Spock had been injured, but he could not recall when it had happened or how serious it was. He looked around the room, trying to get his bearings and clear his head._

_As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he become aware of a startling fact: he was not in his own quarters._

_There was a fire pot against the wall giving off a faint red glow and further examination of the sleeping area revealed floor to ceiling draperies in a rich blood red. Various weapons hung on the walls and sculptures and strange artifacts lined the shelves. A heavy incense—bringing to mind dry sands and exotic spices—wafted over Kirk and with a fluttering of his heart he realized that he was in Spock’s quarters._

_But where was Spock?_

_As if in answer to Kirk’s unvoiced question a dark form moved from the office area to the room divider, hovering there in heated expectation. It was Spock, standing tall and tranquil in his draping Vulcan robes, the perfect picture of strength and dignity all wrapped up in stony silence. This was the Spock he knew, and the sight of him looking so self-possessed was comforting after…after what? What had happened on their last mission?_

_He had lost Spock somehow. Spock had been there, but not there, present, but utterly lost. This thought caused his chest to tighten painfully and his heart leapt when Spock broke the silence._

_“Captain.”_

_That one word flowed from Spock’s lips like deep, seductive music and Kirk’s soul danced to it._

_Kirk was speechless, watching the tall figure move closer to drop down in front of where he sat on the bed. Brown eyes met his and something passed between them, anchoring one to the other and drawing them closer._

_Then they were frozen, their skin heating the scant space between them, while Kirk tried to unravel the invisible link that seemed to wind around them and through them, binding them together._

_Kirk would not know what to do next until he could define the nature of their bond._

_Spock was his friend, that much he had known for some time now, and he accepted this fact gratefully and with no small amount of contentment. Spock was more than that, though, flowing through his blood like a brother as they stood side by side against the universe. Kirk’s whole being swelled with jubilance as his understanding expanded out in a burst of light that illuminated everything._

_There was more, more that Spock had to offer him if he was willing to accept it._

_Spock saw him understand and those brown eyes flashed with something feral as his arms snaked around Kirk and pulled him into a devouring kiss._

_Everything Kirk knew was obliterated and only this remained. Spock pressed between his legs, molding their bodies together and tasting him deeply, his fingers gliding covetously over Kirk’s body. Kirk gasped a small complaint when Spock’s mouth released his, moving to breathe soft words against Kirk’s ear._

_“I belong to you, Jim, and you to me.”_

_Kirk pulled Spock’s mouth against his again, rejoicing at the truth in those words, amazed that he had not seen it sooner. They shed their clothing and Spock pushed him down onto the mattress, moving against him even as Kirk arched up, hard and burning with need._

_Kirk’s heart sped up as the room around them began to flicker ominously, the ruby walls of Spock’s sleeping area turning to stone for a moment. Kirk cried out in frustration as Spock pulled back, clutching Kirk’s hand, his eyes both fierce and afraid. Kirk’s frustration quickly turned to dread as he realized that Spock was slipping away from him, drifting backward toward an impenetrable darkness as if being pulled on a string._

_Kirk lunged for him, desperate to feel those arms around him again._

_“No!” he pleaded, catching Spock and wrapping around him. He pulled Spock back, trying to retreat to the bed, but the room around them had transformed and they were no longer aboard the_ Enterprise _. They were in a cave, and they were both being pulled into the dark._

_The darkness only wanted Spock, but Kirk couldn’t relinquish his hold on him, even in the face of death. It would be a far slower death if he did._

_Their mouths met again in a desperate kiss as they began to fall, plummeting through a black expanse of nothing._

*

 

Kirk woke with a start, his mind twisting around Spock’s and pulling them both out of the dream.

 

He gasped and flung his arm out, overjoyed when it went around Spock’s firm, writhing body. His heart pounded loud in his ears as the fear he’d felt in the dream slowly faded, leaving behind the warmth and the want.

 

A tremendous heat bloomed low in Kirk’s belly as Spock moved over him, eyes glinting as if with some inner fire, and began to tug off Kirk’s shirt. He sat up so Spock could slip it off and then pulled Spock down with him, pleased that Spock’s shirt had already been removed and not quite judicious enough to wonder when that had happened. The hair on Spock’s chest scratched lightly over Kirk’s smooth skin as they slid together and then apart again, tasting and holding and pulling at each other.

 

The weight on top of Kirk was shielding and inflexible, the lips hungry and the teeth marking him possessively. His spirit rebelled at the application of strength until he became aware of Spock’s engorged length pressing against his own erection and then his desire ignited into a rapacious need. He felt himself bending beneath the implacable force that was Spock.

 

Kirk was breathing heavily, not heeding the pointed leaves digging into his back or the jolt of his knee against rock as Spock thrust himself forcefully between Kirk’s legs, spreading him and pressing down. Spock’s hips undulated against him and Kirk’s breath hitched, his hands clutching convulsively at Spock’s back.

 

Muscle rippled against muscle and the musky scent of arousal rose around them, an enticing mix of salty and spicy, human and Vulcan.

 

“Spock…” Kirk panted against a pointed ear, his voice sounding broken in the dark of their shelter.

 

There was no response, and Kirk couldn’t decide if he was more inflamed or disturbed by Spock’s towering silence.

 

One of Spock’s hands moved down between them, grasping at Kirk’s cock through his pants. The raw moan felt torn from Kirk’s throat, and Spock swallowed it up in a scorching kiss. Kirk’s head was buzzing as his brain tried to process everything that was happening to him physically, marveling at the new sensations that came with a strong, masculine touch. Kirk had never been with another man before, and a part him, the emotional part, was struggling to adjust to the experience of giving himself up to such a dominating force.

 

Fear spiked through him for a moment, but he reminded himself that this was Spock, someone he loved and trusted more than anyone else.

 

Only, this wasn’t really Spock. Not entirely.

 

He tried to pull himself down from the soaring heights of desire only to find that slender fingers had unfastened his pants and slipped under his briefs to wrap around his shaft, stroking and squeezing.

 

“Spock. Wait…” Kirk whispered, tilting his head back in spite of himself as Spock sucked hungrily at his throat.

 

Confusion ripped at Kirk’s mind, shredding his self-control and scattering the words of reason that had been on the tip of his tongue. He had to get it together, he had to clear the fog of lust that was obscuring this thoughts and make a crucial decision.

 

He fought to regain control, ceasing all movement and attempting to calm his desire. He willed his mind blank, pushing away the fiery presence there. He succeeded, and his thoughts cleared.

 

The mouth on his throat stilled, the lips pulling back in a snarl before teeth sank into the vulnerable skin stretched over Kirk’s frantically beating pulse. Kirk yelped, striking out in alarm, but Spock ignored him, moving down to tease a nipple erect before biting it with that same bestial appetite.

 

Kirk felt oppressed by Spock’s silence and exploited by Spock’s commanding touch. It was only when Spock’s eyes fastened on his long enough for him to see the blind, animal hunger lurking there that he fully understood the danger of the situation.

 

Spock was not in control of himself. He was completely lost in his desire for Kirk.

 

“Spock, let me go.” Kirk pushed against Spock’s chest, but Spock did not seem to hear him, his eyes burning steadily with tumultuous emotion. Ignoring Kirk’s struggling, Spock unfastened his own pants and tugged his erection free before reaching down to pull Kirk’s pants off entirely.

 

“No!” Kirk cried. “Get off me!”

 

Kirk managed to knock Spock’s hands away and began to squirm out from under him, kicking his feet as his hands dug around frantically for something to catch hold of. He was almost out of their nest when Spock’s hand caught in his hair and yanked him back, slamming him back down with such force that for a few heartbeats he could not draw air into his lungs.

 

Spock was straddling Kirk’s hips and trying to pin his arms down when he finally broke his eerie silence, letting out a savage growl of displeasure that chilled Kirk’s blood.

 

For a moment Kirk was paralyzed by fear, but then, galvanized by his apparent helplessness, he lashed out. His fist smashed into Spock’s jaw. But Spock only seemed to burn hotter, lifting Kirk up by the shoulders and slamming him down again to still him.

 

While Spock tried to recapture his hands, Kirk bucked up, nearly sending Spock sprawling. Spock tried to straddle him again but Kirk had a leg free and pulled it up to his chest before kicking with all his strength.

 

Spock flew back and crashed into the rock wall, his eyes wide with shock.

 

Kirk rolled from the nest while yanking up his pants, ducked out from under the overhang, and ran.

 

The woods were lit by pale moonlight and the ghostly, looming trees were the only witnesses to his mad flight. He heard a commotion somewhere behind him and knew that Spock was pursuing him. Kirk hurdled a fallen log and skidded over pebbled dirt, never slowing his pace.

 

“ _Jim!_ ” Spock’s voice echoed through the dark woods around him, booming with terrifying power.

 

The cold night air seared Kirk’s lungs as he sucked in each sharp breath, and adrenaline flooded him with furious energy as he realized Spock was getting closer. He knew that if he was caught Spock would ravage his body just as he had ravaged his mind in the cave, and there would be no forgiving him, no repairing their friendship.

 

Spock would destroy everything.

 

Kirk realized with a distant kind of horror that his feet were carrying him to the lake. Would Spock’s fear of the water stop him, or would he follow Kirk in? An image of Spock thrashing around in the water, terrified and struggling for air, flashed in his mind and for the first time his feet faltered as his mind flip-flopped between fear and rage.

 

Before he could make a decision, a branch snapped loudly behind him and then a strong hand closed around his arm. With a frightened yell Kirk jerked his arm free, but the motion threw him off balance and he flew to the ground, rolling through the dirt until his legs collided with a tree. A moment later his heart skipped a beat as Spock caught him by the shoulders.

 

He had vowed to protect his friend but he couldn’t let this happen. He could not submit. As Spock’s forceful grip started to pull him back Kirk dove for the ground, his fingers scrabbling in the dirt until he felt a rock beneath his hand, heavy and rough.

 

This must not happen. He would not be subjugated by this broken Vulcan, his once-friend. It would destroy them both.

 

He turned and swung the rock, the full force of his bitter outrage behind it. There was a moment, slow and stretched tight, during which his eyes locked with Spock’s. He had just enough time to see Spock’s anguished expression, his face sickly pale and bleak in the moonlight, and then the rock connected with the side of Spock’s head.

 

Spock staggered back, green rivulets running down his face, and collapsed to the ground, bloody and still.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays have been slowing me down on posting, but thanks for your patience! Happy holidays to all! =)


	9. Chapter 9

Kirk’s voice was gone and he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. His legs felt weak, and his body was convulsing with tremors. He stood, lurched forward, and dropped to his knees next to Spock. He was aware that the air was bitingly cold, but he didn’t feel it; he felt numb.

 

Spock had meant to force him, to take Kirk’s body against his will, and Kirk had had every right to defend himself, and yet…the look on Spock’s face right before Kirk hit him had been almost devastated. Even just remembering it was enough to make Kirk feel sick, and he quickly banished the haunting image from his mind.

 

“Spock,” Kirk finally managed to whisper.

 

He reached out a trembling hand to Spock, but his fingers paused just over the gash on Spock’s head. It was bleeding profusely, sending blood trickling down Spock’s forehead and into the hollow of his eye, where it pooled until it dripped over his nose to the ground.

 

Overwhelmed, Kirk pulled back, dropping his gaze until it came to rest on one of Spock’s hands. The palm was turned up, the long, elegant fingers curling slightly. Kirk had a vision of that hand carefully adjusting the control of the science scope on the _Enterprise_ , Spock’s dark head bending over the viewer.

 

Kirk choked on a sob, shoulders heaving as the sound, seemingly wrenched from the depths of him, echoed out into the night.

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another, before reaching for Spock again. He pulled back the blood-soaked hair to examine the wound. It was too dark to get a good look at it, so he slid his hand down to Spock’s neck, searching for his pulse. Upon feeling the quick thrumming, Kirk sat back, trying to calm his mind enough to decide what to do next.

 

Spock was bleeding and it was cold. Neither of them had their shirts, and there was nothing Kirk could use to staunch the flow of blood. Kirk needed to get Spock back to the shelter.

 

Kirk pulled Spock into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around Spock’s chest. Spock’s head lolled to the side as Kirk struggled to his feet, intending to half-carry Spock uphill, but he hadn’t gone more than four steps before his shaking legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Spock was heavy, and Kirk’s malnourished and bruised body had been pushed to the point of exhaustion.

 

Determined, Kirk struggled to his feet again, but his joints were aching and his shoulder had begun to throb. He fell back to the ground with an angry cry, Spock half on top of him.

 

He carefully lowered Spock to the ground, cursing as he saw that the blood was still flowing freely from the wound. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He needed to stop the bleeding. Though the thought of leaving Spock helpless like this made him dizzy with worry, he needed to go to the shelter and get whatever he’d need to take care of Spock.

 

Kirk jumped to his feet and started off for the shelter. He staggered uphill, moving as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, pushing himself until his muscles burned and ached. Every second that passed was a second that Spock was bleeding and alone, so Kirk forced down the feelings of bitterness and self-castigation, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other.

 

He was surprised when he looked up to see that the shelter was right in front of him, a gaping blackness in the moonlit rock face.

 

In his haste Kirk bumped his head on the low ceiling, but he hardly felt the pain as he quickly dropped to his knees, feeling around for the lantern. When his fingers touched the cold metal, Kirk hurriedly pulled the lantern into his lap and found the switch. Light flooded the shelter and the first thing he saw was his shirt on the ground beneath the nest. He snatched it up and pulled it on before grabbing his pack and yanking it open. He checked that the water, remaining medical supplies, and the rags were still there and stood to go.

 

He was about to dash back outside when he stopped, berating himself for his near-oversight, and went to the nest. He grabbed the blankets and tossed them over his shoulder, and holding the lantern aloft, hurried back toward where he had left Spock.

 

The lantern cast off a bright yellow light that sent long, shifting shadows scurrying between the trees as he ran. Time seemed to be moving with nightmarish slowness now, and Kirk’s stomach churned as he thought of all the blood that was surely still flowing from Spock’s wound.

 

Kirk ran back the way he had come, his breath gusting out in faint puffs.

 

When the lantern-light jumped ahead between the trees and revealed a crouched form his heart skipped a beat.

 

Spock was awake.

 

“Spock,” Kirk panted out before reaching him in a few long strides. Worried and unthinking, Kirk reached out to the huddled figure before his feet had even come to a stop.

 

Spock had turned around at his approach and now he recoiled, throwing up an arm as though to protect himself from an attack. Kirk stopped in his tracks, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as something raw and caustic coursed through him. Spock didn’t move, watching Kirk from behind his trembling arm with one wary eye, the other shut tight against the blood.

 

Spock feared him. The realization hit Kirk forcefully and he reeled back, feeling gutted. His once dignified friend was crouched at his feet, bloody and waiting for Kirk to strike him down. Kirk struggled to understand how things could have gone so horribly wrong, and was hit by a wave of nausea.

 

His stomach heaved, but he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths until his insides settled. He rubbed tiredly at his face with the back of a hand, and when he opened his eyes Spock had lowered his arm and was watching him with a guarded expression.

 

Kirk stood up and crept to Spock, lowering himself to sit next to him when Spock showed no further signs of distress. Kirk let the pack slide off his shoulder and opened it, pulling out a rag and wetting it down with water. He raised the rag toward Spock’s face and was relieved when he didn’t flinch, though Spock’s eyes remained alert. Spock’s body tensed and he squeezed his eyes shut when Kirk began to clean the wound, wiping with the rag and wringing water from it that ran in green streams down Spock’s face.

 

Kirk set down the green-stained rag once he had washed away the majority of the blood and pulled the last of the medical supplies out of the bag. When he was sure the gash was clean, he unwrapped a large square of gauze-like bandage and pressed it to the wound. With Spock’s hair in the way he wouldn’t be able to seal it to the skin as he’d done before, but keeping it pressed to the wound would stop the bleeding more quickly.

 

Kirk’s eyes moved over Spock, taking in his almost grey complexion and stiff posture, and his heart twisted. Spock’s eyes were still closed and his lips were pressed into a firm line, and when Kirk saw Spock’s bare chest and arms give a little quiver he suddenly remembered that it was very cold out.

 

“Spock,” Kirk said. When Spock opened his eyes Kirk gestured with his free hand to the bandage. “I need you to hold this. You need to keep pressure on it.”

 

Kirk reached for Spock’s hand but before he could touch it Spock lifted it up, letting it hover over his chest for a moment, and reached for the bandage. Kirk moved his own hand and Spock’s replaced it, pressing down.

 

Spock’s head began to droop as Kirk moved to gather up the blankets. Spock’s eyes closed again as Kirk draped the blankets around his hunched shoulders and tucked it in around his legs. Kirk started to rub at Spock’s arms through the blanket, but stopped and sat back when Spock’s shoulders went rigid again.

 

They sat silently in a pool of yellow light, the dark pressing in all around them and the calls of nocturnal creatures creating an uncanny, echoing night symphony. The noise had never seemed so unnerving when they’d been curled up in their nest, but now, keeping watch over his injured friend, Kirk felt more than a little apprehensive. He pulled his knees toward his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

 

Now that he was sitting still the emotions he had staved off began to press to the forefront of his mind. He didn't want to feel guilty for defending himself from what he had believed was an attack, but he knew there was something important he was missing.

 

So, maybe Spock hadn’t meant to continue his assault when he’d caught Kirk, but if what Spock had done was so upsetting to him why had he done it in the first place? He knew that Spock had trouble controlling himself, but still, Spock had been so violent with him, his behavior desperate, frenzied.

 

It occurred to him that Spock should have sensed Kirk’s emotions through the link, but looking back it was as if Spock had been unaware of, or unconcerned with Kirk’s feelings. After how protective Spock had been over him this was confusing and worrisome. Would Spock lose control like that again? Was it safe for Kirk to be near him?

 

The only way Kirk could hope to understand Spock’s state of mind was to reach out to him through the link. Eyes still on his withdrawn friend, Kirk turned inward and felt along the bond.

 

It had always been easy for Kirk to reach Spock through the link, but now his mind came up against a great wall of nothing, and no matter how he reached he could not breach it. Bewildered and a little angry, he realized that Spock had somehow managed to block him completely, and Kirk could sense nothing of his thoughts.

 

In his mind he reared back, meaning to plunge forward and batter down the wall, but then the truth hit him and he found himself floundering in shock. The construct was in his own mind. He had blocked Spock.

 

When had he done that?

 

Kirk thought back over everything that had happened and instinctively locked onto the moment he was seeking. Back in the shelter Kirk had been so desperate to see past his lust that he had clamped down on his feelings, mentally shoving Spock away so that he could control himself. It was then that Spock had bitten him, becoming more fierce and demanding.

 

Kirk’s traced his fingers over the bite mark, flinching a little at its tenderness. He let out a deep breath, watching it mist out in a white puff.

 

He needed to break down this wall, to restore the flow of thoughts between them. As long as the link was open he believed he could prevent this from happening again. Maybe if he had reached out to Spock instead of blocking him…but no, Kirk wouldn’t do that to himself. It was difficult enough seeing Spock in this condition and he didn’t think he could handle feeling crushing guilt on top of that.

 

He just needed to fix this. He needed everything to be okay between them.

 

Kirk closed his eyes and focused on finding the link, and once again came up against the wall. He mentally prepared himself for a moment and then bashed his consciousness up against it.

 

The wall didn’t budge.

 

Frustrated, he pounded and tore at the wall with mentally constructed hands, but the wall remained standing. How was he supposed to take the wall down if he didn’t know how it had gone up in the first place?

 

Tired and mournful, his mental presence leaned into the imposing construct. He caught a flash of emotion that was not his own and hope stirred. He tried to imagine himself moving through the wall, pressing into it with his whole being, and let out a silent cry of victory as it began to dissolve around him.

 

His sense of triumph was cut short when an almost unendurable wave of misery swept over him. He let out a groan as the anguish flooded through him before being abruptly replaced by relief and then joy.

 

Kirk opened his eyes to see that Spock was gasping and shaking, staring at him in wonder. Kirk rushed over to Spock, throwing a comforting arm around him.

 

“Hey, it’s all right. I’m here now,” he choked out, Spock’s relief sweeping him up into a whirlwind of happiness. “I’m so sorry, Spock.”

 

Kirk didn’t need a verbal apology from Spock. Spock leaned heavily into Kirk, and his horror at what had happened, his fear that he had lost Kirk forever, and his sheer joy at getting him back were all flowing freely into him. Kirk allowed himself to float in the ocean of Spock’s emotions until the roiling waves calmed and then he gently pulled away.

 

He was relieved to have been able to make some sense of what had occurred, but he was still wary of the seemingly unpredictable nature of the link. He knew that he would have to take more care in dealing with Spock if he wanted to avoid any further trouble. And he was more determined than ever to wait until Spock was healed before addressing their undeniably altered relationship.

 

Lifting the lantern up with one hand, Kirk reached up and gently lifted the bandage from Spock’s head, and was pleased to see the that bleeding had almost stopped. He pressed the bandage back down placed Spock’s hand back on it, squeezing Spock’s fingers gently before letting go. He put everything back in the pack, and adjusting his grip on the lantern, he reached out to Spock.

 

“Let’s head back,” he said, pulling Spock up.

 

Kirk felt exposed sitting out in the middle of the dark woods and was eager to get Spock back to the shelter. He wrapped an arm around Spock’s waist and they started off, weaving between the trees as they made their way back uphill. Spock staggered once, nearly tripping over a tree root, but Kirk steadied him, gripping him tighter. He was relieved when Spock showed no other signs of clumsiness.

 

When they reached the shelter Kirk ducked under the overhang first, pulling Spock after him with a hand above him to make sure he cleared the rock ceiling without bumping his head. He led Spock to the nest and settled him in, finding Spock’s shirt and helping him put it on before tucking the blankets around him again. Kirk climbed up next to him and sat with his arms on his knees, staring blankly ahead.

 

When he finally turned to Spock he noticed that he was still shivering, but he didn’t know if it was from stress or the cold. All the happiness Spock had projected after Kirk restored the link seemed to have died down, and Spock was staring at the ground with a troubled expression.

 

Kirk had the urge to pull him closer, to wrap protectively around him, but he checked this impulse and settled for reaching over to squeeze his arm. Spock turned to him, lips pursed and eyes bright in the lantern-light, and reached a tentative hand to cover Kirk’s. They remained that way for a minute, trading muted reassurances through the touch before letting their hands drop away.

 

Still nervous about drawing attention to their shelter, Kirk reached over and switched off the lantern. Spock lowered himself carefully before curling up in the nest, one arm under his head and the other draped over his knees, and Kirk leaned back against the cold rock, stretching his legs out until they were resting against Spock’s.

 

He would keep watch over Spock, monitor his breathing, and make sure that he showed no signs of distress. Spock wasn’t showing any symptoms of a more serious concussion, but Kirk was worried about the fact that Spock had lost consciousness, and he’d be on the lookout for signs that something was amiss.

 

He laid his head back against the rock and closed his eyes, relaxing as he listened to Spock’s even breathing.

 

He was so tired.

 

There was a plan forming in Kirk’s head, and he frowned as he tried to work out the details. He wanted to head back to the city. If he could manage to convince Spock to remain in the cave they’d stayed in those first couple of days, then Kirk could go on alone and determine if it was safe to bring Spock back. He couldn’t know for sure if the Cadoans and their toxin were still a threat but his instincts were urging him on.

 

The problem would be persuading Spock to stay put. He’d have to manage it somehow, because finding food was becoming an issue, and if it was at all possible he needed to get Spock back to civilization. He needed to get Spock help.

 

Coming to a decision seemed to settle Kirk’s thoughts and he relaxed, his body sliding down the rock wall a little as his mind went quiet.

 

Despite his intentions, Kirk slowly fell asleep.

 

*

 

Kirk woke at first light but didn’t move from his slumped over position against the rock wall until the events of the previous night slowly filtered into his sleepy brain.

 

Kirk sat up in a burst of anxiety. Spock was still curled on his side, asleep, his chest heaving gently with each slow breath. Kirk examined the sleeping Vulcan in the soft light that was beginning to flood the shelter. Kirk could see a mottled bruise spreading down toward Spock’s temple, an ugly splash of greens and yellows against pale skin, and Spock’s hair was crusted with dried blood.

 

Kirk felt a pressing heaviness settle in his chest and closed his eyes until the sensation receded, leaving him feeling emptied out. Not wanting to disturb Spock, Kirk carefully disentangled their legs and slipped out of the nest.

 

He gathered what was left of the seeds and one of the teardrop cabbages and put the light breakfast on a slab of rock, leaving it near Spock’s outstretched hand. Next to that he laid a half-empty water bottle. He picked up his own empty bottle and a cabbage for himself and headed toward the spring.

 

The sky overhead was bright pink and the woods around him seemed to glow warmly in the morning light, a comforting contrast to the sharp, cold air. When he reached the spring he washed his hands, refilled his water bottle, and sat down against a tree to eat his breakfast. The cabbage leaves had wilted a little around the edges, but it was still pleasant tasting and Kirk’s stomach was noisily clamoring for more. When he was finished eating he ignored the pointed stab of hunger that remained and stared into the water.

 

The surface of the pool reflected the rapidly changing hues of the sky above in a gently churning portrait of warmth split through with the jagged dark of looming tree branches. 

 

Sinking deeper and deeper into thought, Kirk’s brow creased with worry. As soon as Spock woke Kirk would determine if he was well enough to travel, and if he was then they would head back down the mountain to the cave. Kirk was sure that Spock would willingly follow him if he left, but getting Spock to remain at the cave while he travelled on was another matter altogether.

 

It was true that Kirk would be safer from any stray Cadoans if Spock was at his side, but if the Cadoans were still in control of the city then he simply couldn’t risk Spock being exposed for a second time to their chemical weapon.

 

He wondered where the _Enterprise_ was, thinking wryly to himself that he would never be so glad to see sickbay as when he beamed back aboard with Spock.

 

Kirk’s thoughts drifted to Spock, curled up in their shelter, looking untroubled in sleep despite his bruises. A few moments later Kirk felt a gentle tug at the back of his mind and knew that Spock was awake and looking for him. He sent out a reassuring thought and the tugging sensation ceased, replaced by a flowing warmth.

 

Kirk sighed and stood, stretching his arms over his head and wincing as his muscles protested. He picked up his water bottle and headed back, his pace leisurely to give Spock time to finish his breakfast.

 

When he reached the shelter the sky had brightened and Spock was sitting just inside the overhang, munching on seeds. Kirk smiled as he approached him, trying not to focus on how vivid the bruises looked in the light filtering through the trees. Kirk crouched down in front of him, grudgingly accepting the small pile of seeds Spock dumped into his hand, and got to the point.

 

“Listen. We need to go back down the mountain. The _Enterprise_ should be coming for us any time now, and if there’s a chance it’s safe to return to the city then that’s what we need to do.” Kirk tossed a few seeds into his mouth, to show Spock how cooperative he could be, before continuing. “I’d like to leave right now, but I need you to let me know if you feel sick or need to stop and rest.”

 

After a pause Kirk asked, with obvious doubt, “Do you understand?”

 

To his surprise Spock nodded and said, “Yes.”

 

Kirk grinned, his spirits lifting. Spock seemed to be doing a little better every day and Kirk hoped that he was doing the right thing returning to the city. He stood up and went into the shelter, gathering up their things.

 

When he had secured any loose items in his pack he picked up his spear in one hand and the Cadoan blade in the other. The curved blade was not large but it was sharp. After hefting the blade in his hand, Kirk attached the spear to his pack with a strap and stood. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t have to use either weapon.

 

Spock, who had been watching Kirk pack up, eyed his own spear critically for a moment and then lashed it to his bag, taking a step toward the trees to signal that he was ready to go. Kirk followed him out and they made their way to the lake. When they reached the spring Kirk stopped while Spock refilled his water bottle and then they went on, Kirk hovering close to Spock and watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye.

 

There was something muted in Spock’s bearing, as though he was only physically present, but his movements were unfaltering and Kirk slowly relaxed into their hike. They skirted the lake, trailing through the last of the morning mist that was ghosting over the surface of the water and through the flat stretches of meadow. When they reached the point where the lake spilled over into the stream, Spock leapt across it with unexpected vigor, landing neatly on a patch of grass on the other side.

 

“Show off,” Kirk murmured good-naturedly. His own leap landed him on the wrong side of the water’s edge. Water gushed around his ankles, seeping into his worn boots before Spock caught his arm and pulled him forward onto dry ground.

 

Kirk was irritably shaking the water out of a boot when he looked up to see that Spock was walking purposefully away from the stream toward a patch of prickly looking shrubs. Curious, he pulled his boot back on and jogged to catch up with him, reaching his side just as Spock bent down to pluck something from a thorny branch.

 

Spock held up the green, star-shaped fruit for Kirk to examine and then pulled off one of its points. He squeezed it until its blood-red insides separated from the dark green skin and slid out.

 

It was disturbingly red. Kirk struggled to remember if he had eaten anything like it during the Nghian banquet, but nothing came to mind. Spock seemed sure of it though, and popped the juicy mound into his mouth. He handed the rest of the fruit to Kirk, darting his eyes between their touching fingers and Kirk’s face.

 

“Eat,” he said.

 

“All right. Thanks, Spock.” Kirk grinned at him, heart leaping.

 

Spock nodded and then dropped down to collect more of the star-fruit.

 

Kirk pulled off a point as Spock had done and squeezed it with one hand, trying not to cringe as the pulpy mass squished out into his other hand. He hesitantly placed it in his mouth and began to chew. It was tart and a bit acidic, though not excessively so, and Kirk eagerly squeezed more onto his tongue. There were not many of them but Spock collected what he could find and divided the fruit between the two of them, before turning and making his way back to the stream so they could continue their journey.

 

They ate the fruit as they walked, silent and relatively untroubled.

 

As Kirk tossed away the last of the crushed green skin of a star-fruit, he glanced over at Spock.  

 

He felt anxiety pierce into him with needle-like sharpness, but he ruthlessly suppressed the feeling so that it wouldn’t pass through the link. He was most likely imagining that Spock’s gait was stiffer and his eyes squinting as if from pain. And even if Spock was feeling some kind of discomfort due to his wound, then Spock would need medical attention, and he could only get that from the Nghians.

 

They picked their way down the mountain, Kirk moving slowly so that Spock wouldn’t have to exert himself any more than necessary. When Kirk saw Spock’s hand flutter to his head, hovering over the scabbed-over wound for a moment before dropping quickly to his side, he called a halt to their march. Spock did not protest and came to sit near Kirk, not too close but within arm’s reach.

 

It felt strange to be on the move again. They hadn’t been at the shelter for very long but it had so quickly become familiar to Kirk that leaving left him feeling a little lost. Technically, they _were_ somewhat lost, but Kirk didn’t like to think of it that way. To him this was just another step in a journey, a journey that would end when he was back on his ship.

 

Kirk felt Spock watching him and turned to him. The urge to reach across the distance between them was markedly strong but Kirk forced his hands to rest on his knees and his eyes darted away, unsettled by the undeniable pulling sensation in the center of him. He wouldn’t let himself be snared by the alluring bond between them, not after what had happened the night before.

 

There could be no more mistakes between them, no more hurting each other. Kirk’s desire to be near Spock was only surpassed by his desire to protect him, to keep him safe.

 

For a moment Kirk experienced the irrational fear that if he looked down at his hands Spock’s blood would still be there, staining his fingers a damning shade of green. He closed his eyes, pain lancing through him.

 

“Jim,” Spock said.

 

Kirk thought that maybe his feelings had bled through the link but when he opened his eyes Spock was staring up at the sky just above a rocky mountain peak. Spock’s hands dropped to the ground and he scooted himself closer to Kirk, his gaze unwavering.

 

Fear prickled at Kirk’s skin.

 

The sound started off a far away rumble, but soon the aerodynamic noise of a low flying aircraft was booming all around them. They caught only a brief glimpse of gleaming composite as the craft soared over the ridge, flying low toward the valley below. Kirk jumped to his feet, shading his eyes with his hand as he stared in the direction it had gone. He looked at Spock, who had stood up next to him, and squared his shoulders.

 

“Well,” he said, clutching the blade in his hand a little tighter, “I hope that’s not the Cadoans.”

 

The look Spock gave him was grim and when they started moving again they walked closer together, their shoulders occasionally brushing. The strange ship made several passes up and down the mountain, sometimes flying very near them, and Kirk had to resist the urge to duck behind a tree or a boulder whenever it went overhead. A craft flying that fast wouldn’t have time to get a visual on them with so much cover being provided by the trees, but it made Kirk uneasy.

 

They had been walking for over an hour when a rock under Spock’s foot overturned, dumping him to the ground. Kirk recognized the area as being somewhere near the crevice Spock had fallen into on their way up the mountain, and it was with an edgy kind of impatience that Kirk grabbed Spock’s arm and pulled him up.

 

“You need to be more careful,” Kirk scolded. He was immediately sorry for his tone when Spock raised tired eyes to his and then leaned into his side, breathing heavily. Kirk rubbed at his shoulders and then lowered him back down to the ground. “Here, sit down and rest for a little bit.”

 

He took out a bottle and handed it Spock, encouraging him to drink. When he was done Spock sat quietly for some time, his face slack and pale. When Spock closed his eyes tightly and let out a long, steadying breath Kirk nervously chewed at his bottom lip.

 

“Is your head hurting?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Spock nodded slowly.

 

Kirk wanted to say he was sorry, but that seemed pathetically inadequate. He was more than sorry, for all of it. If Spock was well he would have told Kirk that is was illogical for him to regret things he had no control over, but Spock was not well and Kirk was not feeling logical.

 

He wished they’d never been sent on this mission. He wished Spock hadn’t beamed down with him. He wished Spock hadn’t had his logic stripped from him, leaving him raw and vulnerable. He wished he could help his friend now, take him out of this lonely wilderness and heal him, before any more harm befell him.

 

Wishes are illogical, he told himself, letting his inner voice become Spock’s familiar baritone. It was briefly comforting, but he still had to decide what to do next. He wondered if he should have left Spock at the shelter and traveled down the mountain alone, but decided that traveling so far from Spock when his health was so uncertain wasn’t the best choice.

 

Of course, making Spock exert himself when he was wounded wasn’t doing him any favors either. If only they could make it back to the cave.

 

Spock’s breathing became slower and lighter and his eyes slid open, blinking in a faintly confused way as he focused on Kirk.

 

“Are you okay? Are you feeling any better?” Kirk asked, moving a little closer.

 

“I am…” Spock started, breaking off as though searching for meaning in what he had just said. He finally just nodded his head and put his hand out to Kirk. Kirk frowned but took his hand and helped him up.

 

“We can stay here a little longer if that’s what you need. Are you sure you’re ready to move again?” Kirk asked, hovering close to Spock.

 

“Yes.”

 

Spock’s answer was simple and sure and Kirk found he was unwilling to argue with him. He didn’t like them being out in the open, and as long as Spock felt he could go on then they should cover as much ground as they could. It shouldn’t take them too long to reach the cave if they kept up a steady pace.

 

They started off again, Kirk hovering at Spock’s elbow, guiding him around obstacles and lowering him over the sides of boulders when it couldn’t be avoided. He was relieved when the terrain become less rocky and the trees more plentiful, casting soothing shade over them.

 

Kirk and Spock’s heads snapped up when a wooly-haired creature with large hooves came pounding toward them, zigzagging back and forth over the stream before spotting them and darting off. They stopped to watch as it disappeared into the distance, still darting wildly between the trees.

 

Kirk probably should have been worried about what had caused the animal’s flight, but mostly he was just concerned that Spock, with his Vulcan hearing, hadn’t noticed the animal’s noisy approach sooner. Was Spock in so much pain that he was becoming unaware of the world around him?

 

They started walking again, but a couple minutes later Kirk did stop to wonder what had caused the animal to run at them like that. He would not have to wonder for very long because he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps rapidly moving toward them.

 

Kirk looked around and realized there was nowhere to hide. Spock was at his side in an instant, yanking the spear out of the strap on his pack even as Kirk tightened his grip on the Cadoan blade, raising his arm in readiness.

 

They saw a flash of silvery hair and braced themselves as the Cadoan burst around an outcropping and came barreling toward them. Kirk glanced over at Spock to see that he looked tense and fierce, a vision of wildness with dirt-smudged cheeks and blood-caked hair.

 

Spock edged closer to him and angled his body in front of Kirk’s.

 

Kirk was tempted to knock him out of the way, but just then the Cadoan noticed them and came to a stop, nearly tumbling over in front of them.

 

The Cadoan’s grey eyes were wide and terrified. Kirk’s unease grew as the alien began to babble frantically, gesticulating with its hands, which were notably free of weapons.

 

Kirk and Spock turned to look at each other, unsure of how to respond to the hysterical alien in front of them. The alien appeared to be fairly young, and despite the aggression of the other Cadoans they had met, Kirk lowered the blade, holding a hand out in a non-threatening gesture as he caught the alien’s eye.

 

“It’s okay, we won’t hurt you as long as you don’t try to hurt us,” Kirk said in a soothing tone, ignoring the huff Spock let out next to him.

 

The alien’s eyes darted from Kirk to Spock and back, and though it still seemed anxious its voice was a little calmer when it spoke again. The Cadoan nodded over its shoulder and reached out one of its own hands, palm-up, in imitation of Kirk’s gesture. This whole situation had Kirk’s intuition screaming out a warning, but Kirk forced a small smile of encouragement and took a step forward, pushing past the arm Spock had flung out in front of him.

 

The Cadoan looked relieved and began to make a strange panting noise that Kirk was sure was tearless weeping.

 

“What happened to you?” Kirk wondered aloud.

 

The alien’s head jerked up suddenly, its eyes going wide before rolling back in its head. Kirk jerked back as the Cadoan began to scream, collapsing to its knees. It tore at its hair, scraping its nails over its scalp as though trying to dig into its own skull. Kirk watched, horrified, as blue blood began to stream from the alien’s nose and ears, spraying out of its mouth as it screamed high and loud.

 

Spock blocked Kirk completely with his body, shoving him back. Over Spock’s shoulder Kirk saw the Cadoan slump to the ground, the sudden silence as jarring as the screams had been.

 

“Jim!” Spock cried, still backing up against him as panic flowed through the link.

 

Kirk looked up from the Cadoan and saw a Nghian standing a little further down the hill, a hovercraft some distance behind him. The Nghian was wearing a mask over its mouth and nose, but its eyes appeared serene. Kirk’s stomach lurched when he became certain that the alien in front of them was responsible for the horrific death they had just witnessed.

 

The Nghian walked toward them, its eyes locked with Kirk’s.

 

Kirk didn’t have time to react before Spock, driven by sheer terror, raised his spear and charged the Nghian. He got two steps before he fell to the ground screaming, clutching at his head.

 

“No!” Kirk yelled, darting forward and dropping down next to Spock. “Don’t hurt him!”

 

The Nghian watched them impassively, and Kirk felt the world around him begin to squeeze in on him as pain shot through his mind.

 

He cried out again for the alien to stop, but Spock continued to scream, looking up at him with large, terrified eyes. Emerald blood began to trickle from Spock’s nose, dripping into his open mouth.

 

Kirk’s vision began to blur.

 

The Nghian was going to kill them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to throw myself into the next chapter and try to get it out more quickly, I promise! Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Kirk felt as if his head was splitting open, but he pushed past the stabbing pain and tried to focus on the body in his arms. He had dragged Spock into his lap, and Spock’s head was pressed against his chest, yet a distance was opening up between them. There was blood; he could see it dripping from Spock’s nose and ears, and he could taste his own blood on his lips.

 

He felt the link tremble and knew that it was being stretched to the breaking point, that it was ready to snap as Spock’s heart stuttered and slowed.

 

Clinging tight to the fraying threads between them, Kirk gathered up every memory of Spock, everything Spock had been before this tragic mission, and he shoved it toward the blurry shape of the alien in front of him.

 

Let the Nghian see just what he was destroying, what he was viciously murdering out of fear and ignorance. Spock’s brilliant spirit, flickering out, ripped to pieces by a being who could not begin to appreciate his integrity, intelligence, and compassion...let him see that and understand the magnitude of his crime.

 

It was unthinkable that Spock should die so senselessly, his once formidable mind shattered beyond repair. Kirk’s very soul railed against it, awash in grief.

 

When the pain in his head stopped, Kirk realized he was crying. He was shaking silently, but he could feel the tears on his cheeks and something inside him was still screaming.

 

He felt the brush of the Nghian’s mind and a mental whisper, shushing him. Kirk looked down at Spock, gently smoothing the dark hair as his vision cleared.

 

Spock looked ashen, emptied out, with his eyes partially open but vacant. Kirk could sense Spock in the back of his mind, could feel the rise and fall of Spock’s chest, but he knew that his friend was barely hanging on. His mind and his body had been through too much.

 

Kirk looked up to see that the Nghian was approaching him, its face tranquil, as though it hadn’t just killed one alien and attempted to kill two others. The honeycomb pattern on its head faded from the deep plum color it had been into the more faint pattern Kirk had seen on the other Nghians. He wondered what it meant, and hoped it signified that the Nghian didn’t feel threatened.

 

Kirk drew his arms tighter around Spock’s limp body and steeled himself for what might come, but the Nghian merely stopped and stared blankly at Kirk, as though looking through him. When the Nghian’s gaze dropped down to Spock, Kirk felt his heart flutter in anxiety.

 

“He was just trying to protect me. He was afraid,” Kirk said, his voice cracking. The alien looked up again and Kirk continued, projecting his words as well as his thoughts, “He’s sick. Please, don’t hurt him.”

 

The Nghian cocked its head slightly and raised a delicate hand, letting fine, bony fingers hover for a moment in front of Kirk’s eyes. Then, face as inscrutable as ever, the Nghian reached forward and laid its fingers softly on Kirk’s forehead, plunging him into darkness.

 

Kirk fell.

 

*

 

The ground beneath Kirk was moving in a gentle swaying motion. He might have let it lull him back into unconsciousness had one urgent thought not wrenched him out of his imposed contentment.

 

Spock.

 

Kirk struggled to remember how to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt thick and heavy and he was rapidly sinking back into a syrupy somnolence. Kirk fought against it, his mind reaching out of the viscous mire he had been plunged into, searching for that other vital part of himself. He sought it out with his mind and his body, finding the link even as his arm brushed up against Spock.

 

The brief touch centered him and his perceptions became sharper. He realized he was on the floor of some kind of transport, and that the swaying was caused by the buffeting of air currents. He remembered the Nghian who had hurt Spock and realized that they were still in danger.

 

He knew he must protect Spock from further injury, but he didn’t know how.

 

Kirk willed his body to move, stretching slowly toward the still form beside him. His fingers brushed against Spock’s arm, and encouraged, he doubled his efforts.

 

Just then he heard a hiss, followed by the unmistakable chirping and beeping of a shuttlecraft cockpit. Someone was coming. He heard footsteps approaching and reached, stretching out his fingers. The footsteps stopped somewhere near him and for a moment he heard nothing as he thrust everything he had into one last movement.

 

Fingers touched his head and he felt himself slipping away again, yet he felt strangely triumphant.

 

Spock’s hand was in his.

 

*

 

When Kirk woke next, his eyes opened almost immediately and he bolted upright. Finding himself on a low cot, he turned and dropped his feet to the floor, gazing around in confusion. The florescent lights made his eyes water, so he sat blinking and shading his face with his arm until they adjusted, and then he looked around the room.

 

It was a small room, the walls and floor smooth and pale grey, with two doorless entryways, one leading into a small nook where he could see a toilet and sink and the other leading into a hallway. Kirk’s cot was small and narrow, covered with a thick white blanket and nothing else.

 

It was the cot against the opposite wall, however, that drew his attention. Spock was laid out on it, eyes closed, his feet hanging off the end of it.

 

Swaying slightly, Kirk stood and in two long strides was at Spock’s side. Kirk knelt down and placed a hand on Spock’s chest, shaking him gently.

 

“Spock, wake up,” he said, trying to keep his voice from becoming too urgent. “You need to wake up now. Come on.”

 

Kirk saw that Spock’s head wound had been tended to, and Spock’s hair was messy but clean, sticking out at odd angles. Kirk reverently stroked Spock’s hair flat, wanting so badly to put everything right again. Superficially Spock seemed to be healed, but Kirk suspected the healing of Spock’s mind would not be so simple. He shook Spock again, a little harder, and his heart leapt when Spock’s eyelids fluttered open.

 

“Spock, hey! That’s right. Open your eyes.” Kirk reached up to cup his hands on the sides of Spock’s head. “Look at me.”

 

Spock turned his head and if Kirk hadn’t already had all of his emotions wrung out of him he might have wept for joy. Spock’s eyes were full of pain and misery, but they were not vacant.

 

As long as there was something left of Spock there was hope that he could eventually be healed.

 

If the Nghians allowed it, that is. Kirk could understand that they were distrustful since their planet had been attacked. All of the Nghians who had been directly involved in the official First Contact proceedings were most likely dead, but Kirk and Spock were clearly not Cadoans, and he hoped they would not be seen as a threat.

 

Spock struggled to pull himself upright, arms trembling, and Kirk frowned.

 

“Are you sure you can get up? Maybe you should lie back down,”

 

Spock ignored him, so Kirk took his arm and helped him to sit on the edge of the cot.

 

“I haven’t seen any sign of Nghians. It’s quiet out there,” Kirk said, nodding at the doorway.

 

There was a long silence during which Spock tiredly rubbed his face—such a human gesture—and Kirk’s fingers drummed nervously against his thigh.

 

Kirk couldn’t take the silence for long. “Do you think they’ll be able to give us any news of the _Enterprise_?”

 

Spock eyed the doorway and merely exhaled loudly in response.

 

Kirk quickly subdued the urge to grin at him for his expressiveness, concerned by Spock’s defeated bearing.

 

“Spock, are you okay?”

 

Spock opened his mouth as if to respond but no sound came out. Spock licked his lips and dropped his gaze to the floor, and Kirk was about to say something when he heard a somber, “No.”

 

“You’re hurting.”

 

Spock didn’t bother to reply.

 

Kirk sighed and stood up. “Well, I’m not going to just sit around here. I want to know what’s going on.”

 

Kirk strode across the room to the doorway, determined to get some answers. There was a flash—for a moment Kirk felt as if he had been punched over every inch of his body—and then he was flying backward through the air. He hit the ground hard and lay still, too shocked to move.

 

“Jim!” Spock cried.

 

Kirk felt Spock’s hands on him and grabbed his arms, pulling up against Spock’s solid presence to anchor himself until the room stopped tilting. He groaned with relief when the dizziness began to abate and he was able to sit up without support.

 

Kirk glowered at the doorway.

 

“Force field,” Spock said helpfully, looking almost surprised to have spoken.

 

“Obviously,” Kirk mumbled, rubbing at his chest and arms as they tingled unpleasantly. He looked up at Spock’s concerned face and added, “Sorry. I should have expected that, but I guess I’m not thinking clearly.”

 

Kirk climbed to his feet and Spock led him to the cot, a hand on his elbow. Once Kirk was sitting Spock took a seat next to him.

 

Kirk felt foolish and was frustrated that they were being treated this way, even though it wasn’t unexpected. If the Nghians didn’t trust him then he wouldn’t be able to get information out of them about his ship and, more importantly, he might not be able to get help for Spock.

 

“Well, it looks like we’re stuck here for now,” Kirk said. After feeling Spock’s shoulder lean into his he couldn’t help but muse, “At least they didn’t separate us.”

 

They sat in silence, waiting, but saw or heard no signs of any Nghians nearby. The room they were were being kept in seemed to be isolated and Kirk was almost certain they were underground. The air in the windowless room felt slightly damp and heavy, making the small space even more oppressive.

 

Kirk felt restless, and took to pacing up and down the room, being careful not to get too close to the force field. Spock remained sitting on the cot, his eyelids drooping as he watched Kirk’s repetitive movements.

 

When Kirk realized Spock was falling asleep sitting up, he went to him and settled him on his cot, arranging Spock’s legs and stroking his arm soothingly before returning to his own.

 

Spock had been asleep for a little over an hour when Kirk heard someone approaching. He jumped up, moving over to the doorway. A Nghian, female, Kirk guessed, by the cut of her clothes and her more delicate features, came to a stop on the other side of the force field, carrying a tray in one hand.

 

Kirk was about to bombard her with questions when he felt something shove at his mind, ordering him back. Startled, he obeyed. The Nghian woman reached her hand out and tapped at a panel on the wall. The force field flickered off.

 

With smooth, rapid movements the Nghian stooped and slid the tray on the floor through the doorway. She stood and stepped back, activating the force field again.

 

“Wait!” Kirk called out as she vanished back down the hall. “I need to talk to you. Someone needs to tell me what’s going on! You can’t just keep us here!”

 

Kirk looked over at Spock, who was still sound asleep, and then down at the tray. He briefly had the urge to kick the tray across the room in a fit of pique, but his stomach gave an insistent twist at the sight of the food that was upon it. There were two bowls with chunks of what looked like fruit in various colors, and two round bread rolls with a buttery sheen on their golden brown tops.

 

Kirk let out a blissful groan.

 

“Spock, get up. It’s time to eat.”

 

When he got no answer he went to the cot, and dropped down next to him. “Spock, wake up. There’s food,” he said, shaking Spock by the shoulder.

 

Spock opened his eyes, staring blankly at Kirk for a moment before sitting up and yawning.

 

Kirk was concerned when he showed no interest in the food, but relaxed when Spock dutifully began to eat from the bowl Kirk handed him. When the fruit was gone Kirk handed him a roll and he ate that as well, but as soon as he swallowed the last bite he settled himself back down on the cot and closed his eyes.

 

Kirk took a bowl and went into the small adjoining room, rinsing it in the little sink mounted on the wall and filling it with water. He brought the bowl to Spock and urged him to sit up again, watching while he drank the water. Spock seemed exhausted by this little bit of activity and flopped down heavily on the cot, making it creak and shift.

 

Kirk watched as Spock squirmed restlessly for a few moments and then dropped off to sleep, the tension in his body easing.

 

Kirk felt the need to accomplish something, but as long as the Nghians refused to talk to him there wasn’t much he could do. Wanting to show the Nghians that he was willing to be cooperative, he placed the rinsed out bowls back on the tray and slid it to the doorway so that it could be easily retrieved by their distrustful captors.

 

After that the only thing to do was wait.

 

A couple hours later Spock was still asleep and Kirk was sprawled on his own cot, searching for imperfections in the ceiling. After being in the woods for so long the small room seemed especially bright and quiet, and Kirk couldn’t help but feel painfully confined.

 

When he heard the sound of Nghians approaching, he jumped up but this time did not go near the doorway.

 

Three Nghians, one female and two slightly larger males, appeared in the doorway and dropped the force field, and Kirk edged over to Spock, making sure his movements were slow and non-threatening. He didn’t like the way they were looking at Spock and when the female Nghian pulled out a long, narrow device and pointed it at the sleeping Vulcan Kirk moved swiftly between them.

 

“What are you doing? I wont let you hurt him again,” he said firmly, trying to still the shaking of his hands as he lifted them between himself and the Nghians.

 

The look the female gave him was less placid than the expressions the other two wore, and almost curious. The honeycomb pattern on her forehead bloomed a rich teal as she watched Kirk, still pointing the device. She angled the device down and a little to her right and when it let out a little peep she looked at it for a moment and lowered her hand to her side. She continued to stare at Kirk, and he was beginning wonder what the hell they were all doing, when he felt a thought pop into his mind, urging him to move.

 

“No,” he said. He followed this with a vehement thought of his own, aimed in the Nghians general direction.

 

The next alien impression that sprang into his mind was convoluted and his mind struggled with it for about half a minute before the words “ _give him to us_ ” emerged from the confusion of thought. Kirk felt sick at the thought of them taking Spock away, afraid for Spock’s safety and mental-wellbeing. He willed the aliens to understand this, focusing on the pain he knew Spock was in and the helplessness this made him feel.

 

There was no change in the Nghians’ expressions, but after a moment he distinctly felt a thought bloom in his mind.

 

_Doctor_.

 

He almost laughed with relief. He turned to look at Spock and saw that Spock was sitting up now, staring at the Nghians in terror. Kirk moved to comfort him, but Spock jumped from the cot and pressed himself against the back wall, vigorously shaking his head.

 

“Spock, she’s a doctor. Maybe she can help you. Let her—”

 

“No!” Spock yelled. He was still shaking his head and there was something manic and dangerous in his eyes.

 

“Spock,” Kirk protested.

 

When the Nghian doctor took a step toward Kirk there was a flurry of movement from Spock. He seized Kirk by his shirt and flung him up against the wall, and placed himself in front of him in a slightly crouched position, as if readying himself to spring. Kirk could feel confusion pouring through the link, as though Spock was trying, and failing, to sort through his emotions. But the fear was overriding all, the memory of the Nghian’s attack on his mind still fresh.

 

“He needs your help, but he’s upset right now. Can you give us a minute?” Kirk pleaded, trying to push past Spock, only to be flung back again.

 

The Nghian woman looked at Kirk and he was almost positive he saw a brief flicker of something dark flash in her eyes.

 

_No time_ , came a curt jolt of thought. The Nghians turned as one and left the room, one of the males stopping long enough to collect the tray before reactivating the force field.

 

Spock sank to the ground, his breath coming in small gasps as he rubbed at his temples.

 

Kirk stared at the empty doorway in frustration.

 

If the Nghians were willing to allow a doctor to see Spock, then they most likely had no intention of causing them physical harm, but Kirk couldn’t know how long the Nghians planned on holding them. Kirk could feel that his condition was deteriorating, and if Spock didn’t allow the Nghians to treat him there was a possibility that he might die before they were released.

 

Unfortunately, the very nature of Spock’s condition was making it difficult for him to be treated. If only he hadn’t suffered that brutal telepathic assault on the mountainside he might be more reasonable now, closer to being himself again.

 

Kirk let his anger run rampant for a minute, let it burn itself out, and reminded himself that none of this was Spock’s fault. Spock needed Kirk’s patience and understanding while he suffered through the emotional chaos that had been thrust upon him.

 

Kirk sat down next to Spock and took a few centering breaths before speaking. “I know you don’t trust them, but you need to see a doctor. Won’t you let the doctor look at you? Can you do that, for me?” Spock gave him a doleful look and Kirk reached out to clasp his shoulder. “Let them help you. Please.”

 

Spock turned his face to the door and Kirk could tell by the rapid darting of Spock’s eyes that there was a fierce battle raging in his head. When Spock finally turned back to him and gave him the barest nod, Kirk let out a small sigh of relief. If Spock was willing to allow the doctor to check him over, then all Kirk needed to do was get her to return.

 

Kirk had no doubt that with cities of Nghians suffering from the Cadoan attack she and all other available doctors had their hands full. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince someone to call the doctor back so that she could take care of what they probably viewed as a hysterical and possibly dangerous alien, but he would have to try.

 

For the next hour Kirk tried to draw Spock out, urging him to communicate. He recounted memorable mission stories, asked Spock questions, and Spock would either nod, shake his head, or do nothing at all as his face took on a strained look.

 

“Jim,” Spock finally said. Although his eyes were clearer than they had been Spock was plainly tired. Kirk sighed and they settled into silence.

 

Kirk was just about to suggest that they retire to their cots, when he heard the beep of the force field being dropped and a tray slid into the room.  Kirk hadn’t heard anyone approach and sat up straight, eyeing the tray in surprise before getting up to see what they had been served this time.

 

There were two bowls filled with plump round pellets that reminded him of the kibble they’d eaten from the Nghian food packets. Next to each bowl was another of the bread rolls and a small dish of something that looked like jam. Kirk took the tray to Spock and sat down next to him, picking up one of the pellets and eating it. The outer shell was somewhat firm but the inside was soft and tasted vaguely of eggplant. Kirk shrugged and handed a bowl to Spock.

 

They ate in silence, and when they were done Kirk rinsed out the bowls and filled them with water. When their thirst was sated he put everything by the doorway.

 

He couldn’t be sure what time it was, or how much time had passed since they’d been captured, but Kirk was tired. Since there was nothing better to do in the little room Kirk urged Spock to lie down, and bid him good night as he went to his own cot. He flipped from one side onto the other as he tried to get comfortable and was just starting to relax when Spock’s shadow fell over him.

 

“Yes, Spock?” Kirk murmured.

 

When Spock didn’t answer Kirk looked up to see Spock standing over him, clutching his blanket tightly. He was watching Kirk with a pinched expression, and Kirk suddenly realized that Spock did not want to sleep alone.

 

“Spock, there’s not enough room on this cot for one person, let alone two,” Kirk said, not unkindly but with some exasperation.

 

Spock nodded, accepting this, but didn’t go back to his own cot. Instead he sat down, leaned his arm on Kirk’s cot and his head on his arm, and then he wrapped the blanket around himself.

 

Kirk smiled sadly and sat up.

 

“Alright, Spock. That looks uncomfortable,” Kirk said, getting up and yanking his blanket off the cot. “I’ve got a better idea.”

 

Kirk went to the back wall, folded his blanket double, and laid it on the floor. He took Spock’s blanket and folded it, then rolled it into a pillow, placing it on top of his own blanket. That done, he lay down with his head on the blanket-pillow, leaving room between himself and the wall so that Spock could lie down behind him.

 

Spock eagerly joined him, wrapping an arm around Kirk’s waist and pulling him closer. Kirk closed his eyes as Spock nuzzled into his neck and gently inhaled his scent for a moment before resting his head on the pillow. Kirk smiled to himself, his mind buzzing pleasantly with drowsy affection.

 

“Mmm. This was a good idea,” Kirk said after they had been curled up together for some time. He didn’t want to think about the pain seeping through the bond, and instead focused on the warmth.

 

The lights overhead dimmed, startling Kirk from his sleepy stupor. He was confused for a moment and glanced at the doorway, but then decided that the lights were probably set to dim when it was nighttime. He relaxed again, pleased when Spock’s arm wrapped a little tighter around him.

 

This was definitely preferable to sleeping alone.

 

He could feel through the bond that Spock was stable for the moment, and all his defenses dropped away as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

*

 

Kirk woke when the lights brightened. It happened slowly, but once they were at full brightness the harsh light beat insistently against Kirk’s eyelids. He slipped out from underneath Spock’s arm, rolled his head on his aching neck, and stretched his arms. Spock was still asleep and Kirk frowned at the apparent depth of his slumber.

 

Spock should have at least stirred a little when Kirk got up but he was deathly still, his breath coming slow and heavy. Kirk’s first impulse was to shake him awake, but he decided that if Spock needed the rest that badly he would leave him to it for now.

 

He went into the little room to use the toilet, glad that he would at least have some privacy for this, and sat back down next to Spock to wait.

 

It wasn’t long before a young Nghian male came and pushed a tray into the room, quickly snatching up the one from the night before.

 

Kirk jumped up, but resisted the urge to approach him.

 

“Excuse me, but we need to see the doctor. Could you send her to us again?” Kirk asked, taking care to direct his thoughts as he spoke.

 

The Nghian backed out of the room and activated the field, evidently harried by the sound of Kirk’s voice. Frustrated, Kirk projected the word “doctor” at him with as much mental vigor as he could manage. But the Nghian only retreated faster, his footsteps rapidly fading away.

 

Cursing, Kirk retrieved the food tray and brought it over to Spock. Like the lunch they’d had the day before, it was merely fruit and bread and Kirk tore into his portion hungrily. Kirk was grateful to have regular meals, but such light fare seemed to simply tease his appetite and he wished there was more.

 

He stared at Spock’s food and wondered if he should wake him up, but decided to let him sleep a little longer.

 

An hour later, Kirk turned to Spock and shook him awake. Spock looked as confused as he had the last time Kirk had woken him, but he sat up without help and ate some food despite the slightly queasy look on his face.

 

Kirk started to gently chide him for not finishing his meal, but then Spock swayed and lurched to the side. Kirk caught him as he started to slide to the floor and lowered him down, positioning him on his back. He took Spock’s pulse and found that it was faster than normal, and he laid a hand to Spock’s forehead to gauge his temperature. It seemed a little higher than it should be, but not worryingly high.

 

He soothingly stroked Spock’s cheek. “Spock, what’s wrong? Where do you hurt?”

 

Spock opened his mouth and a faint whine came out. He tossed his head around as if trying to shake himself out of a bad dream and curled up on his side, pulling his knees to his chest.

 

Filled with panic, Kirk lowered himself over Spock, pressing his face into Spock’s soft hair.

 

“Spock, how can I help you?” he asked, his voice going rough as he tried to contain his worry. There was a muted but persistent pain coming through the bond, and Kirk knew Spock was trying to lock it within himself.

 

Spock curled tighter in on himself, bringing his hands up to his head and digging his fingers into his scalp. His knuckles turned white as he began pressing into his head with his fingertips, digging his nails in.

 

Alarmed, Kirk pulled at Spock’s hands, and after a struggle, managed to yank them away. Spock let out another whine and tried to pull his hands away but Kirk held on, lowering his head again to press his forehead to Spock’s.

 

He felt an emptiness open up inside him and realized that Spock had succeeded in blocking the bond. Angry and panic-stricken, Kirk sat up and glared at the doorway.

 

“We need a doctor! Hey! We need help in here!” Kirk bellowed, his whole body tensing and his face heating with helpless anger.

 

No one came, and Kirk settled down next to Spock, still holding his hands. For the moment he was glad that the link was blocked so that Spock would not pick up on the despair he was feeling.

 

“Spock, it’ll be ok,” he whispered, squeezing the hands in his. “We’ll get through this. Everything will be alright if you can just hang on a little longer.”

 

Kirk closed his eyes, wanting desperately to believe his own words, and listened to the sound of Spock’s deep breathing.

 

Spock seemed to have gotten through the worst of his pain, and Kirk was just beginning to feel calm again when he heard the noise of several Nghians approaching. Kirk got to his feet and took a defensive stance, frowning at the doorway as four Nghians appeared. They entered the room and one of them stepped forward, looking into Kirk’s eyes.

 

The Nghian gestured to the doorway.

 

_Go_. It hit Kirk with some force.

 

Kirk shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere without Spock.”

 

The Nghian remained still for a moment and then gestured at Spock.

 

_Both, go_.

 

Kirk dropped down and helped Spock sit up, and then pulled him to his feet. Spock was nearly standing straight when his legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor. Kirk caught him just in time to keep him from hitting his head.

 

“He’s sick. Can you give us a minute? Or, better yet, get us a doctor?” Kirk asked, trying to keep his frustration out of his voice.

 

_Now_.

 

“You bastards.” Kirk glared at the Nghians. “Come on, Spock.”

 

Kirk hoisted Spock up and wrapped an arm around him to steady him when he began to sway. Kirk held on to Spock’s waist and caught his hand, pulling Spock’s arm up and over his shoulder to give him more support.

 

Spock was breathing heavily but didn’t make a noise of complaint, keeping his eyes on the floor as Kirk began to walk him to the doorway. Two of the Nghians walked ahead of them and the other two fell in step behind them, and Kirk glanced over his shoulder uneasily.

 

The Nghians were so reserved and quiet that Kirk couldn’t even begin to guess at their intentions.

 

Staring over the heads of their petite guards, Kirk wondered if it would be possible to take them by surprise before they could use their abilities on him, but he decided it was best not to entertain such thoughts with the powerful telepaths so near him. He wished they would tell him something, anything, about what was going on. But they seemed disinclined to communicate and so they walked in silence, Kirk focusing on keeping Spock upright.

 

They were marched down a corridor lit by the same bright, florescent lights as the room had been and painted the same bleak grey. They passed several closed doors and went up a short flight of stairs before coming to a round room with a large door opposite the corridor.

 

The Nghians approached the door and one of them tapped at the small panel to the left of it. With a chirp, the door slid open to reveal what appeared to be an elevator. The Nghians herded them inside and Kirk leaned back against the wall of the lift with Spock cradled to his chest. When the door closed and the lift started to rise Spock tensed and then leaned his head on Kirk’s shoulder.

 

“Jim,” he whispered, his breath shaky.

 

Kirk frowned but kept his voice calm and even when he replied, “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

 

He hated himself for making a promise that he might not be able to keep, but was grateful when Spock relaxed against him.

 

Kirk was so focused on Spock that he was startled when the door slid open and the Nghians filed out, gesturing that Kirk and Spock should follow. They did, walking in the same pattern as before, two aliens behind them and two in front, though the Nghians walked much closer to them as they moved through a crowded hallway.

 

The hallway was large and lit not only by fluorescent lighting but by the sunlight pouring in from the large open lounge areas to the left and right. Kirk saw cots, some with bags of personal effects open on them, and Nghians hovering close to each other in small groups or sitting on low couches with stoic faces turned upward.

 

Some of them spotted Kirk and Spock and the patterning on their heads flared deep, dark colors, spreading up past their foreheads in pulsing surges. Without even receiving a thought from them, Kirk sensed danger and held Spock closer.

 

Their Nghian guards led them into small room with a lit up console, and one of them stepped forward and quickly tapped at a few buttons, opening a door across the room.

 

_Get in_ , came the mental order.

 

Not seeing any other options, Kirk led Spock through the door. When it closed behind him with a hiss he jerked his head around to look at it. The room they were in was small, smaller than the room they had been kept in before, and the floor looked like polished metal. There were no windows, only ominous looking metallic paneling on the walls that seemed to radiate heat and a glowing orange light.

 

“Hey! What is this? What are you going to do with us?” Kirk yelled. He strode to the door, and his heart rate skyrocketed as he heard a faint humming noise coming from all around them.

 

He banged on the door with both his fists, but when he heard Spock hit the floor behind him he turned and went to him, pulling him up into an embrace. The air around them was pulsing with energy now and Kirk felt light-headed.

 

He couldn’t hide the fact that he was afraid anymore, and his voice shook as he said, “I’m sorry, Spock. So sorry.” Then, in a whisper, “I love you.”

 

He felt himself breaking apart, felt Spock breaking apart in his arms.

 

When he opened his eyes a moment later, he was in a very familiar room staring down at the worried face of Leonard McCoy.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Dammit, Jim! Look at the state you’re in!” McCoy turned his stormy blue gaze on Spock and added, “Both of you!”

 

“Bones…?” Kirk gaped at McCoy, his heart still pounding.

 

McCoy immediately scanned them both. “Damned Nghian transporter technology. It’s a wonder they haven’t all been reduced to clouds of atoms floating around the galaxy.” He looked up from the scanner at Spock and said in a more subdued tone, “It’s as bad as we thought. Let’s get him on the stretcher. M’Benga is waiting for him.”

 

Kirk stood dumb, gazing around the transporter room. So many possible scenarios—most of them disturbing—had gone through his head when the Nghians had locked him and Spock in that room, but this had certainly not been one of them. He was too shocked to feel relieved, and it was only when Spock began to sag heavily in his grip that he came back to his senses.

 

“What are you waiting for!” McCoy snapped, coming to his side and helping him carry Spock off of the transporter pad. As they lifted Spock onto the stretcher Nurse Chapel eased Spock into position, placing his hands on his chest and giving them a quick, tender squeeze.

 

Kirk felt a flutter of something dark and unpleasant in response, but suppressed it as they began to move.

 

Doctor M’Benga met them as soon as they entered sickbay, and he and Chapel disappeared into the intensive care ward with Spock. Kirk started to follow, but McCoy caught his arm and pulled him back.

 

“No you don’t,” he said, urging Kirk onto a biobed. “There’s nothing you can do for Spock right now, and I’m not done with you.”

 

“McCoy,” Kirk said, still trying to find his voice. “What happened?”

 

“Well, within four days of the initial attack the Nghians drove the Cadoans back. We were puzzled at first about how they managed to do that considering they have no military to speak of and very little in the way of weapons,” McCoy scowled a little as he continued, “but once they sent the Cadoans packing we came back for you two and found out that Nghian weapons are of the telepathic variety.”

 

Kirk’s eyes widened. “The crew?”

 

“They’re fine. There were a lot of mild headaches after, and a few severe migraines, but no one suffered any lasting effects from the attack. I think the Nghians just meant to warn us off.”

 

Kirk nodded, thinking about the telepathic assault he and Spock had been through. What he and Spock had suffered had been more than a mere warning. “How did you get us back?”

 

“Between Scotty and me we eventually managed to persuade them to allow us to approach the planet. Then, after too much damned negotiating, I very politely asked them to give us back our Captain and First Officer, and they complied,” McCoy said with a theatrically cagey look.

 

“I’m sure you were a perfect southern gentleman,” Kirk said through a half-smile. His head felt heavy and his thoughts muddled, but it was good to be back on the _Enterprise_. Kirk’s voice started to rise as he continued, “I was sure they were going to keep us there until Spock died. They could see he was sick. They must have known—”

 

“Jim. I’m worried about Spock too, but just to keep things in perspective, consider this: an estimated six hundred thousand Nghians died in the attacks, and three times that many are suffering the effects of the chemical weapon that bombed their major cities.” McCoy’s eyes grew sad and his voice thoughtful. “We can’t blame them if they were distrustful after something like that.”

 

“I know, Bones. I know that. I’m just…” Kirk couldn’t finish and looked away toward the doorway that Spock had been taken through. He did understand, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

 

“It’s alright,” McCoy assured him. “And, despite their initial reluctance to cooperate with us, in the end they were good enough to send me—” McCoy whirled around as the sound of a loud crash and raised voices came from the intensive care unit. “What in the blazes?”

 

He was off like a shot, Kirk at his heels, and when they went through the doorway they met with utter chaos.

 

M’Benga was picking himself up off the floor where he had been sprawled amid scattered medical items. As he scrambled to his feet, Spock leapt off of the biobed, yanking his arm free from the one restraint that they had managed to get on him. When a nurse slipped up behind Spock and tried to administer a hypo, he whirled and knocked her to the ground, turning to glare at the others converging on him.

 

He caught sight of Jim and surged forward just as two nurses caught him by the arms, trying to drag him back to the bed.

 

“Jim, get out of here,” McCoy said, pushing on Kirk’s chest to get him moving. “We’ll take care of this.”

 

Kirk moved back toward the door, but when Spock let out a terrible howl he pushed past McCoy and went to Spock, catching him by the shoulders. Spock immediately stopped struggling and collapsed forward onto Kirk, burying his face in Kirk’s neck. Kirk waved away the nurses and when they released Spock’s arms he stumbled over to the bed and eased Spock down on it.

 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he heard McCoy mutter somewhere behind him.

 

Kirk rubbed Spock’s arm to reassure him, saddened by the frantic look in Spock’s eyes as he glanced around the room at the gathered medical personnel. Kirk turned and swept his gaze over the nurses and then caught M’Benga’s eye. “If it’s ok with you, I’d like a moment alone with Spock.”

 

M’Benga gave Spock a critical once over, but apparently convinced that the Vulcan was not a danger at the moment, he conceded, “Very well. Call me if you need me.”

 

Everyone filed out of the room except for McCoy, of course, who went to the opposite side of the bed and eyed Kirk shrewdly. Kirk pointedly ignored him, keeping his attention on Spock.

 

“Stay,” Spock said. He still looked nervous and was breathing heavily, but he seemed to be making a concentrated effort to control himself.

 

“I will.” At this McCoy shifted and crossed his arms over his chest, but Kirk continued to ignore him. “You know where you are, don’t you? You understand that you’re safe now?”

 

Spock’s eyes were still wary but he nodded.

 

“Good. Bones is going to tell us what the treatment plan is, and you’re going to let him and Doctor M’Benga take care of you. Got it?”

 

Spock nodded again, turning his head to gaze up at McCoy. There was something poignant about the trusting look he gave the doctor and McCoy seemed to soften, his folded arms dropping to his sides and his eyes warming.

 

“Right, well,” McCoy started awkwardly. “The Nghians provided us with a compound to help repair some of the damage to your central nervous system. We were able to synthesize a version that should be compatible with your Vulcan physiology, but in order for the drug to be most effective we’re going to have to put you into a medically induced coma.”

 

“What?” Kirk snapped his eyes to McCoy. “For how long? Is that safe?”

 

McCoy turned to Kirk. “It’s relatively safe, but I can’t tell you exactly how long he’ll need to be out. That will depend on how he responds to the medicine.” He looked at Spock and went on, “Neuroregeneration is tricky when it comes to the central nervous system, but this drug is your best shot at regaining full brain function, though I can’t make any promises on that count.”

 

They were silent for a long minute before Kirk spoke up. “What do you think Spock? Does this sound okay to you?”

 

“Yes,” Spock said.

 

Having made his decision Spock laid his arms at his sides and stared up at the ceiling, looking pale but resigned. McCoy nodded his head and moved for the door, stopping to look back at Kirk.

 

“I’m not leaving him,” Kirk said.

 

McCoy seemed about to say something but then shook his head and went out.

 

Kirk found a chair and settled himself at Spock’s bedside, giving him an encouraging smile when their eyes met. A minute later McCoy came back with M’Benga, and shortly after that a nurse came in. They quietly and efficiently prepped Spock, setting up the drip and preparing to administer the medication that would put Spock under.

 

Spock began to look edgy, but Kirk reached up and took his hand. Spock’s eyes closed as he relaxed.

 

“All right, Spock, we’re going to put you to sleep now. You should be feeling a lot better when you wake up,” McCoy said.

 

Spock squeezed Kirk’s hand but didn’t open his eyes or speak, so Kirk said, “Do it. He’s ready.”

 

No one questioned Kirk and soon everyone was watching the monitor above the bed as the indicators slowly drifted down. While M’Benga continued scrutinize the monitor McCoy came and stood near Kirk, leaning down a little and laying a hand on his shoulder.

 

Kirk jerked his head around to look at him, startled by the sudden contact.

 

“Jim, I know you told him you’d stay, but you’re going to have to leave eventually. You can come back later, but I need to finish examining you,” McCoy said. He grinned a little and stood up straight again, adding, “Come on, I know you’ll be wanting to get back to the bridge, and to do that you’ll need me to clear you for duty.”

 

Kirk gave him a somewhat sour look but finally stood up, following him back into the examination area. He quietly submitted to the numerous tests the doctor insisted on running, settling into a heavy lethargy. He hardly noticed when he felt the hypo against his arm and nodded indifferently when McCoy said “Vitamins,” in explanation.

 

At some point he looked up and realized that McCoy had finished his examination and had been watching him with the piercing look he got in his eyes whenever he thought he was onto something.

 

Kirk cleared his throat. “So, what’s the verdict?”

 

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Jim?”

 

“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head,” Kirk said evasively.

 

“It’s funny you should say that. My scans showed some very interesting brain activity. It’s similar to the subtle changes I’ve noticed whenever Spock found some reason to meld with you on a mission, but this is far more pronounced.” He shook his head at Kirk, giving him a stern look. “I don’t like the look of it, and I want to know what happened.”

 

McCoy was standing with his hands on his hips, and Kirk knew that he owed the man who was both his doctor and his friend an explanation. He took a deep breath, raked a hand through his hair, and said, “Spock wasn’t himself down there.”

 

McCoy nodded in encouragement and after a moment Kirk began to talk. He told McCoy about the aliens Spock had slaughtered and their escape into the mountains. He told him about Spock’s protective behavior, although he hesitated a little when it came time to tell him about the forced meld. But he got it out and was grateful when McCoy just continued to calmly listen while he summed up the rest of the events, though he left out the things he knew Spock wouldn’t want anyone to know.

 

When he was done McCoy stood silently for a moment, thoughtfully massaging his chin with one hand, but then he said, “What else happened? You mentioned that Spock wasn’t feeling well when you left the shelter and started back for the city, but you didn’t give any hint as to why that would be.”

 

Kirk’s was feeling tired and slow, and he should have known better than to try to hide anything from McCoy. Feeling acutely uncomfortable, Kirk told him what had happened at the shelter, starting with the dream that had caused them both to wake up aroused. McCoy’s eyes widened a little at this but he didn’t interrupt as Kirk explained everything that happened after, ending his account after describing how he'd cleaned up Spock’s head wound and got him back to the shelter.

 

“Jim,” McCoy started.

 

“Look, Bones, I’d rather if certain details stayed out of the final report. Spock’s going to have enough to deal with and I’m sure he’d rather people didn’t know…” Kirk couldn’t finish and looked to McCoy, hoping for understanding.

 

“You’re protecting him.” McCoy said knowingly.

 

“Of course. He’d do the same for me.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. The man’s a walking rule-book.” McCoy smirked.

 

“Doctor McCoy,” Kirk scolded, actively trying not to crack a smile. Even as tired as he felt, and as serious as the conversation was, he had a hard time not responding to his friend’s playfulness. He was suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude to be back on his ship and finally let the smile break through, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Alright, Jim,” McCoy’s expression sobered and Kirk sat up a little straighter. “There are some things you need to understand. I don’t know exactly how much this treatment is going to do for him, but I can tell you that it won’t be enough to get him back to normal.”

 

“What? But you told him he’d be better when he woke up,” Kirk said, feeling anxiety spike.

 

“I told him he’d be feeling a lot better, but he still won’t be himself. Not like he was.”

 

“But this medicine—”

 

“It will alter the composition of the extracellular matrix and allow for axonal regrowth, but physically healing some of the damage doesn’t address the deeper issue.”

 

“And what the hell is the deeper issue?” Kirk said, his voice getting louder.

 

“I’m not gonna talk to you if you’re gonna yell,” McCoy grouched.

 

Kirk sagged as he consciously willed himself to relax. “I’m sorry, Bones. It’s just…are you saying you can’t fix him?”

 

Something in Kirk's expression must have moved McCoy, because when he continued his voice was gentler. “When we found out about the chemical weapon the Cadoans used I consulted M’Benga to try and figure out what the best treatment for Spock would be. We assessed all the information we have on Vulcan brain function—which is not a lot, by the way—and what we know of the chemical used in the attacks. Based on what you’ve told me and what M’Benga and I theorized, the controls that help Spock keep his emotions in check have been destroyed and that has resulted in severe psychological trauma.”

 

“Psychological? So you’re saying his problems are all in his head, so to speak? I was there, Doctor, and this is more than just a mental issue.” Kirk was trying not to get riled up and failing.

 

“I know that, and it’s the physical damage that we’re working on repairing right now, but tell me this,” McCoy leaned closer to Kirk, wagging a finger, “Don’t you find it odd that Spock was able to selectively retrieve memories that were relevant to your situation, such as knowing what plants to eat? And didn’t you wonder why he could say some words when he wanted to tell you something, but otherwise remained mostly silent?”

 

“I just assumed that his memory was coming back slowly,” Kirk said, though McCoy’s questions had him thinking.

 

“Uncontrolled emotions are anathema to Vulcans, and having all that emotion bombard him at once was so threatening to his sanity that he cut off the parts of himself he wanted to protect, like his scientific knowledge and memories that were important to him.”

 

“Then how did he get the memories back?” Kirk asked.

 

“I can’t say for sure. Maybe the information isn’t all that cut off and he just needs a push to retrieve it. Vulcans seem to have a lot of control over their bodies and minds, but whatever the case, he’s going to need help restoring his controls and as delicate as his condition is that’s going to be easier said than done.”

 

Kirk was deep in thought and he chewed his lip as McCoy finished, “We can’t know if he’s capable of completely restoring his controls and regaining what he has lost; we can only hope that with some help he’ll be able to heal.”

 

“With some help,” Kirk said. Realization dawned, and his stomach dropped. “You think we should take him to Vulcan.”

 

“Yes, and M’Benga agrees with me. And as much as I dislike that Vulcan melding mumbo jumbo, I think you should see a Vulcan healer as well to get that link looked at. I don’t like the look of these brain scans.”

 

Kirk tried not to frown at McCoy’s last words. He felt strangely protective of the link, even if it had been forced upon him. McCoy continued to watch him and Kirk stared down at his feet, unsure of what to say next. He was tired and hungry and still disoriented by his and Spock’s sudden return to the ship.

 

McCoy, as perceptive as ever, finally broke the silence. “You’re in surprisingly good shape, given what you’ve been through, but I did notice some tearing of the muscles in your shoulder as well as some minor damage to the ligaments of your ankle, not to mention various small cuts and contusions,” he stopped talking long enough to jab Kirk with another hypospray, “but this should help with any pain and inflammation.”

 

McCoy’s words had drawn Kirk’s attention back to his aching body, and he sighed a little when he began to feel relief from the pains he had grown used to.

 

McCoy smiled at him and went on, “You’ve lost some weight but not enough to make me worry. I think the most important thing right now is that you get some rest. You’re going to eat a good meal and then you’re going to go to your quarters and say there. Doctor’s orders.”

 

“But Spock—” Kirk started.

 

McCoy raised a hand to cut him off. “Uh-uh. You can’t help him by sitting around and watching him sleep. In a couple days I might have a better idea of how long he’ll need to be out, but until then you should focus on yourself. Go get some rest.”

 

“Fine. But I want you to alert me if there’s any change in his condition. Anything at all.”

 

“Yes, sir,” McCoy said with an affable expression. “Now go. And no attending to ship’s business. I haven’t cleared you for duty yet.”

 

Kirk nodded, and McCoy gave a victorious little bounce on his toes before heading to his office.

 

Kirk made his way out of sickbay at a sedate pace. The crewmen he encountered in the corridors greeted him warmly with salutes and smiles, and Kirk was once again overwhelmed by his relief to be back. He took his meal in his cabin, feeling very appreciative of food synthesizers after his days of struggling to find sustenance in the wilderness. When he finally settled himself into his bed—which felt luxuriously comfortable after sleeping on rocks and leaves—he was more than ready to follow McCoy’s advice and rest.

 

He was glad to be back where he belonged, but his happiness was tainted. As he closed his eyes he reached out for Spock. He received only the faintest hint of warmth from the comatose Vulcan, but that flicker meant that Spock was alive and for now that would have to be enough.

 

Kirk slept, his mind wrapping him in a smothering blanket of bad dreams.

 

*

 

Once he was allowed back on duty Kirk relieved a very appreciative Scotty and sank into the center seat with a sigh.

 

At the sound, Sulu turned around and grinned at him. “It’s good to have you back, Captain.”

 

“Aye, it is,” agreed Scotty, who was edging toward the turbolift. “It does us all good to see you back where you belong.” He was almost in the turbolift when Kirk heard him brightly add, “And it’ll do me good to get back to my engines.”

 

Kirk chuckled and Chekov turned to smirk at Sulu as the sound of Scotty’s cheerful humming was cut off by the turbolift doors closing.

 

“Time ‘till arrival at Vulcan?” Kirk inquired.

 

“Seven days, four hours at present speed, Sir,” Sulu answered.

 

“Not good enough,” Kirk murmured. Then, ignoring a few curious glances, “Increase speed to warp factor seven.”

 

“Aye, sir.” There was a pause, and then, “New ETA, four days, six hours.”

 

“Very good.”

 

At McCoy’s insistence Kirk had utilized the prescribed period of rest, though he had spent a fair amount of time at Spock’s bedside, listening to the soothing chirping of the medical equipment that monitored Spock’s condition.

 

Kirk’s days of rest and contemplation had been interrupted when the _Enterprise_ received orders from Admiral Fitzpatrick directing them to divert to Starbase 26. There had been some protest, but Fitzpatrick argued that a stopover at Vulcan was unnecessary since Spock could receive treatment at a Starfleet medical facility. The Admiral knew full well that Spock could not contest the decision as he was currently in a coma, and Kirk’s rage was nearly matched by McCoy’s spluttering fury when he heard of the change in plans.

 

Since Kirk was not officially back on duty when the orders had been received he’d settled for sending a thoughtful subspace message to certain high-placed Vulcans to make them aware of Spock’s condition and recommended treatment plan. Though it took a couple days for everything to get sorted out and new orders to be relayed—a delay Kirk resented—he was glad to finally be on the way to Vulcan.

 

McCoy made a brief appearance on the bridge, hovering over Kirk and watching him quietly before apparently satisfying his curiosity and returning to sickbay. Kirk had made a point to look calm and unconcerned, but he slouched a little as soon as the doctor was gone.

 

Kirk rubbed at his eyes and cringed as a stabbing pain lanced through his head. He’d been having headaches ever since Spock had been put into a coma, and was trying to hide from McCoy the fact that they were getting worse with each passing day. He had to admit to himself that if the pain got much stronger he’d have to give in and go to the doctor for treatment, even if he had no doubt McCoy would blame Spock and the link for his condition.

 

The only time Kirk felt any relief from near-constant throbbing in his head was when he was with Spock in sickbay, and as a result, he spent as much time as possible there with him. Now that he was back on duty he’d have to wait until his shift was over to visit sickbay, and he wondered how bad his headache would get before then.

 

“Sir?” Kirk heard a soft voice call out. He turned around to see Uhura’s soft brown eyes on him. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

 

“Fine, Lieutenant,” he said, perhaps a little sharply. Then, with a small smile, “Don’t worry about me.”

 

She nodded and turned back to her station, still looking concerned but too polite to push her captain.

 

Kirk let out a long breath and decided that if he felt any worse after his shift he’d go to McCoy and tell him about the headaches. If the crew was starting to notice then he couldn’t let it go on.

 

At the end of his shift Kirk’s pain hadn’t gotten any worse so he went to the mess hall. He took full advantage of the temporarily relaxed dietary restrictions, though he was too distracted to really appreciate the meal. He felt a strange pulling sensation coming from somewhere inside him. The feeling grew stronger and stronger until he disposed of the tray of unfinished food without even thinking about it and wandered to the nearest turbolift.

 

Kirk was only half aware of getting on and off the turbolift. He quietly marvelled at the fact that every step he took eased his anxiety and soothed his aching head.

 

It wasn’t until he found himself face to face with McCoy that he realized his wanderings had brought him to sickbay.

 

“Jim. I’m gonna pretend you can’t stay out of sickbay because you missed yours truly,” McCoy said, eyes twinkling.

 

“What makes you think I’m not here for you?” Kirk asked with an innocent expression.

 

“Right.” McCoy smiled before growing more serious. “Why don’t you come into my office and we’ll catch up then.”

 

As Kirk followed McCoy into his office he couldn’t help but wonder what he had just gotten himself into. McCoy sat down and waved Kirk to a chair, and not having the energy to resist the inevitable, Kirk sat down without a word.

 

“So, how are you feeling?” McCoy asked.

 

“Fine. I feel great.”

 

“You do look a little better,” McCoy conceded. Before Kirk could get too comfortable, he added, “Better than you did on the Bridge earlier today, anyway.” Something in McCoy’s tone made Kirk apprehensive and he cringed inwardly when McCoy asked, “How’ve you been sleeping?”

 

In a fit of protectiveness that he didn’t fully understand, Kirk’s first instinct was to lie. But he didn’t like the strange feeling he had of being threatened and rebelled against it by going with honesty. McCoy wasn’t out to get him, after all.

 

“Not very well,” he admitted.

 

“That’s interesting.”

 

“It’s interesting?”

 

“Jim, I’d like to run a few tests.”

 

“More tests? I’ll tell you what, why don’t I just spend the night in sickbay and you can run all the tests you want.” Kirk didn’t know why he said it, and was surprised to realize that despite the sarcastic edge to his voice he did want to remain in sickbay. “Go on, Doctor. You can hook me up to your machines and I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby.”

 

“That’s not a bad idea.”

 

“I’ll even—What?”

 

“I’d like you to stay in sickbay tonight so I can monitor your brain activity while you’re sleeping.”

 

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. He had that feeling again of being imperiled somehow, a shrill warning sounding from deep within. But after so much time with Spock on Nghia, the sudden separation was difficult for him and he longed for an excuse to be near him.

 

“Alright.”

 

If McCoy thought it was strange that Kirk was so unresisting to the idea of spending a night in sickbay he gave no sign of it. He nodded and instructed Kirk to come back later.  

 

Kirk watched in amusement as McCoy sauntered out of his office and immediately began to berate the ensign who was waiting for him on a biobed. Kirk didn’t linger long enough to find out what kind of unforgivable mishap the ensign was guilty of and ambled back to his quarters in an inexplicably good mood.

 

After hours at his desk going over reports, Kirk’s good mood had vanished and he felt unsettled and lost. He had adjusted to being back on the _Enterprise_ and yet, at the moment, he felt dazed and out of place.

 

He left for sickbay earlier than he had originaly intended, and as soon as he entered McCoy handed off a PADD to a nurse and nodded that Kirk should follow him. McCoy led him into the quiet ward where Spock was sleeping and any suspicions Kirk had about the situation flitted out of his mind as soon as his eyes fell upon his friend. It occurred to him that he wasn’t thinking clearly and that was surely indicative of a problem, but his relief at seeing Spock again and the pleasant anticipation of spending an entire night in such close proximity to him overwhelmed all thought.

 

“Well, have a seat,” McCoy said, interrupting his mindless reverie.

 

Kirk looked over to see McCoy patting the bed neighboring Spock’s, and Kirk obediently walked over and sat down. He couldn’t fathom why he had been so unsettled earlier. He was home on his ship, he was back to being captain again, and Spock was only a few days away from getting the help he needed to heal his mind.

 

“So, what do you need me to do?” Kirk asked, smiling in response to McCoy’s lopsided grin.

 

“I need you to wear this,” McCoy said, lifting up what looked like a hairnet made of thin wires. McCoy flipped the headpiece inside out and pointed to one of many round, soft-looking discs, “These electrodes will help me get a better picture of what’s going on in your head. You wear it like so,” and here McCoy pulled the net of wires over Kirk’s head and tugged on various straps, adjusting it until it was snug, “and then clip this little box on, and we’re done.”

 

“Is this necessary? Don’t you have machines that can monitor my brain activity without me having to wear so many wires?” Kirk complained, sticking a finger through the net to scratch at his head and fiddling with the thin wire running from the cap into the box clipped to his pants.

 

“Sure, but this is portable, so if you need to get up for some reason you wont have to worry about upsetting the readings. Now stop being difficult and make yourself comfortable.”

 

“Hmph. I’m not really tired right now.”

 

McCoy’s response was to place a hand on the computer access terminal attached to the bed and swivel it over to Kirk. “Knock yourself out, and let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in my office for a few hours yet.”

 

“Thanks,” Kirk said archly to his retreating back.

 

He busied himself catching up on some reading and managed to occupy himself that way for nearly two hours, but he frequently glanced up to watch Spock. It was strange to think back on Spock as he had been on Nghia. He visualized Spock’s wild eyes, tousled hair, and frenetic movements as he had paced outside their shelter, and Kirk felt his stomach flutter.

 

That was not _his_ Spock though.

 

Pushing the computer terminal away, he stood up and went to Spock’s side. Kirk looked at the monitor above the bed, comforted by the slow and steady beeping of Spock’s vital sign readings. He gazed down at Spock and marveled at how peaceful he looked, and reached through his mind for the link to find that it was still quiet. Spock’s hair was neat—Kirk had seen to that—and his arms were resting at his sides on the bed, long pale fingers splayed over the warm red of the blanket.

 

The urge to be near him was great, and Kirk reasoned with himself that if Spock were awake he would want Kirk close. He couldn’t let himself believe that the obvious affection Spock had shown him on Nghia would disappear when he woke. Perhaps his presence would do Spock good. Kirk remembered their last night on the planet and the way Spock had insisted on sleeping together, and he made his decision.

 

Casting a quick glance at the door, he crawled onto the bed, stretching out on his side next to Spock and resting a hand on his chest. He sat up a little when it occurred to him that he was still fully dressed in his uniform, but even when he noticed the folded hospital gown on the small table anchored to the wall, he couldn’t bring himself to move now that he was in contact with Spock. He lay back down, nestling his head on the pillow.

 

The warm buzz he felt flowing over the surface of his skin whenever he was in Spock’s arms was fainter now but still comforting. Kirk closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent that was uniquely Spock.

 

Kirk’s eyes eased open some time later and he realized someone had put a blanket over him. He smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep again.

 

*

 

“How’d you sleep?” McCoy asked, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

Kirk had woken up early and returned to his own bed, and he was stretched out there now with his hands linked behind his head on the pillow. “Good. I feel just fine,” Kirk assured him.

 

“That’s what I thought,” McCoy said.

 

Kirk frowned a little and sat up. “So, that’s it then? We’re done here?” He didn’t like McCoy’s tone and his unease returned in the form of a distant niggling in the back of his mind.

 

“Yes, for now.”

 

“Good,” Kirk pulled off the wire cap and was about to get up, but he froze when McCoy spoke again.

 

“I’d like to monitor you again tonight, if you don’t mind. You can sleep in your own quarters, this time. I’ll just come by to get you set up, then I’ll go over all the results tomorrow.”

 

“Fine,” Kirk said, his voice flat.

 

Kirk fled sickbay, returning to his cabin to shower and change into a fresh uniform. Once he had eaten a small breakfast, he marched onto the bridge with a headache already blooming behind his eyes. The fierce ache slowly spread out beneath his skull as his shift wore on, but Kirk remained detached, ignoring the pain as well as the rising of a hunger that had nothing to do with the bodily need for nourishment.

 

Kirk almost wished that some kind of small crisis would crop up to disrupt the monotony of their warp flight. He reminded himself of the importance of reaching Vulcan in a timely manner and resolved to keep himself busy in any way he could. By the time Kirk’s relief showed up at the end of his shift Kirk was pacing from station to station, and the bridge crew heaved a collective sigh of relief when Kirk stepped into the turbolift.

 

He didn’t bother with pretense and marched straight into sickbay. He found McCoy in his office and flopped down into a chair, one hand rubbing at his temple.

 

“I need something for this headache,” he said.

 

He felt the press of a hypo and knew that McCoy had been ready and waiting for this. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at his friend, smiling with relief as the pain faded.

 

McCoy stepped back and leaned against his desk, watching Kirk with a kindly expression. “Why don’t you go sit with Spock for a while, catch up on some more reading. I’ll have a nurse bring you something to eat.”

 

“Yeah. I think I’ll do that,” Kirk said, blinking tiredly.

 

He didn’t want to think about the definite note of sympathy in McCoy’s voice or his willingness to let Kirk linger in sickbay. It was almost as if McCoy was being especially indulgent with him, and he had the feeling that it was a bad thing.

 

Still, he went to Spock’s bedside and stayed there until McCoy finally came and led him back to his quarters so he could sleep. Kirk prepared for bed and allowed McCoy to attach the monitoring device to his head, and he clipped the box to his pajama bottoms.

 

After McCoy left he absently adjusted the net of wires on his head and then sprawled out on his bed, eagerly hoping that tonight would be different from the other nights he’d slept alone since returning to the _Enterprise_.

 

It wasn’t.

 

*

 

A couple of hours into his shift the next day McCoy called him down to sickbay. With a sinking heart he went, clenching his fists to keep his hands from trembling.

 

As soon as he walked through the door McCoy waved him to his office and Kirk followed him in, his heart beating faster when McCoy activated the locking mechanism on the door and sat down.

 

“I think you know what it is I have to tell you,” McCoy said.

 

Kirk let out a shaky breath but said nothing, remaining standing.

 

“Jim, I’ve been going over the results of all of the tests I’ve run on you, and quite frankly, it’s not good. I understand that you and Spock became pretty close while you were on Nghia, but—”

 

“Do you? Do you understand?” Kirk asked. His fists were clenched more tightly now, but not to keep his hands from shaking. He wanted to reach out and strangle McCoy, to throttle the man who was threatening something that had become vital to Kirk. He felt a violence brewing in him, a desperate need to protect that in him with connected him to Spock.

 

McCoy ignored his aggressive stance and went on, “I do.” He clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and leaned forward a little. “Jim, you need to break this link you have with Spock.”

 

Kirk winced, and his fists suddenly relaxed. His whole body sagged with defeat and he sank down into a chair. McCoy was watching him with concern, his blue eyes showing nothing but compassion.

 

Kirk took a deep breath and put his hands over his face. “I know.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a long one from Spock's point of view. =)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains some serious angst.

**\- Spock -**

 

The Vulcan woke in degrees, his mind reaching around worrisome gaps and tearing through broken memories to find and hold an important piece of knowledge. He grasped this anchoring fact and cherished it all the more because it was only recently recovered from among the debris of aimlessly drifting, fragmented thoughts. This information, his sense of self, was founded on a name: Spock. It was the substructure on which he could build, stacking and ordering other facts as they came to him through the swirling tempest.

 

It seemed to Spock that he could reach into the disorder and recover more of himself; facts, codes and mores, and a wealth of memories, but the churning tumult seemed to bristle with menace and he could not help but shy away from it.

 

As Spock drifted further out of unconsciousness his mind seized a memory and rapidly built upon it, constructing a vision that made his spirit soar. He remembered Jim. He had been sure of Jim before he had been sure of himself and now he reached out to him, his mind sliding along the shimmering thread of their link until it found him.

 

Jim’s mind was a warm presence that bathed him in brilliant light and endless affection, and he struggled more vigorously toward the waking world so that he might enjoy Jim’s physical presence as well.

 

He had not yet found the strength to open his eyes, but he could hear two voices rising and falling in quiet conversation somewhere near him. He immediately knew Jim’s voice and soon after identified Doctor McCoy’s drawling speech patterns.

 

Doctor McCoy, he knew without knowing how he knew, was someone he could trust. But at the moment there was something in the man’s tone that stirred up Spock’s protective instincts. McCoy was questioning Jim and Jim was becoming increasingly agitated. Spock tried to focus on the words, and found that the way was much easier now than it had been recently, his mind smoothly pulling meaning from the sounds.

 

“No. That’s not what I meant,” Jim was saying.

 

“Jim, for all you know the link is what caused you to develop feelings for him in the first place, and once it’s dissolved—”

 

“That’s not true. That’s not what this is. This is _real_ , Bones,” Jim interrupted, his voice pleading for understanding.

 

“I’m just saying that maybe you should wait until this has been taken care of and go from there. You can both reevaluate your feelings once you’ve got your heads on straight.”

 

“I don’t like this.” Jim’s voice came out ragged and Spock sent his consciousness ripping through the thin veil of sleep that still lay over him. “Will we at least have some time together before we go down?”

 

“I’ll release him from sickbay just as soon as I’m sure he’s able to travel. I’m sure you’ll—” McCoy paused for a moment. “Jim, he’s waking up now.”

 

Spock heard shuffling and the rub of fabric against fabric, and then Jim’s hand was squeezing his.

 

“Spock?”

 

The sound of Jim saying his name brought Spock back completely and he opened his eyes, blinking as Jim’s face came into view. Jim looked blurry around the edges but light seemed to flare around him in a halo until Spock’s eyes adjusted, revealing every detail of that beloved face. Jim’s full lips were quirking in a smile and his hazel eyes were shining, but Spock could feel his disquietude.

 

Spock wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but McCoy was leaning over him, moving into his space to scan him. Spock wanted to jerk away from him, to find some quiet place to retreat to, but an assurance came from somewhere inside him that such actions were not proper in this situation. He remained still.

 

“How are you feeling, Spock?” McCoy asked, still leaning over him.

 

Spock understood that McCoy was inquiring as to his well-being and he sorted through his tangled thoughts for an appropriate answer. It occurred to him that the doctor could be referring to his physical state, which was adequate, or to the swirling mess of his mind. He pushed through his confusion, searching through his slowly expanding memory banks for the words he needed.

 

The effort exhausted him, and he could only manage, “I am…unsure.”

 

McCoy huffed. “Right. Well, I’m sure you’re still a little muddled, but your vitals look good.” Here he glanced at Jim. “I’d like to keep you in sickbay for a little while longer though, so I can continue to monitor you.”

 

Sickbay. That was where he was. His mind reached tentatively into the chaos and retrieved a name that made his soul light up: _Enterprise_. The name tried for a moment to slip away from him but he wrapped around it and held it near, close to where he kept Jim.

 

It would not escape him again.

 

Spock realized McCoy was watching him intently, as if waiting for an answer, and he nodded his head, ready to comply with the doctor’s wishes.

 

Something in those expressive blue eyes stirred up a feeling in Spock that he could not understand. Something sharp and yet playful twisted out of the chaos, and Spock was able to name it before it dissipated: mischief. He felt the skin around his eyes crinkle and the corners of his lips twitch up, but his expression relaxed when it was met with surprise from both Jim and the doctor.

 

Then Jim laughed, a pure, bright sound, and McCoy grinned widely and shook his head. Spock could not deny that he was happy in that moment, and wondered why it seemed that he should not be.

 

Was it wrong to be happy?

 

As Jim and McCoy talked to him and to each other, Spock reveled in their company, though he longed to have Jim alone. There were things he wanted to express to him, if he could only find the right words to communicate what he was feeling. Again his mind gave a little lurch at the acknowledgement of his emotions. It seemed there was something running rampant in him that must be subdued, but Spock flinched away when the truth of it tried to squirm into his consciousness.

 

He ruthlessly pressed it down, his heart pounding in fear.

 

He looked up to see that Jim and McCoy had stopped talking and were watching him, eyes full of concern. Spock stroked Jim’s hand and was rewarded by a smile that softened the lines of tension in Jim’s face.

 

“Jim, maybe you should get back to the bridge. I’ll let you know if we need you,” McCoy said.

 

Spock did not want Jim to leave, but a vision of Jim sitting straight and proud in the captain’s chair coalesced in his mind, and he quelled the wave of dysphoria that tried to rise up at the thought of being separated from him.

 

Jim belonged there, on the bridge, and Spock only wished that he could join him.

 

Jim agreed with McCoy and then ran a hand down Spock’s arm, sending a pleasant shiver through him. “I’ll see you as soon as my shift is over. Don’t give Bones too much trouble.” He smiled, rising to go.

 

Spock’s heart gave a stutter as Jim disappeared, and he only half heard the reassuring words McCoy uttered before following him out. It was not long before Spock felt the twinge of a far away pain and knew that Jim was hurting. Spock sat up and glanced at the door, wondering if the doctor would allow him to leave. It was unacceptable to Spock that Jim should suffer and he knew he must do something. He reached along the link, soothing and sending love into Jim’s mind. The pain eased, and it was replaced by a quiet kind of pleasure that rebounded and left Spock feeling content.

 

Spock lay back down and waited to be released. Various people came in to check on him and Spock always inclined his head in polite acknowledgement whenever he was greeted, feeling unsure of what it really meant to be polite and wondering why it seemed that he should be so.

 

He accepted it though, and instinctively filed it under codes and mores, pausing in his ruminations long enough to admire the expanding structure of knowledge and memories. He tentatively reached out to touch the complex framework within his mind and watched it glitter with synaptic sizzles and sparks.

 

Finally McCoy came to him, handed him clothes Spock distantly recognized as his own, and turned his back while Spock changed.

 

While Spock was pulling on the blue tunic McCoy said, “We’re almost to Vulcan. I’m going to release you now so you’ll have a chance to go get a bag packed for your stay.”

 

One of the times McCoy had come to check on Spock he had explained that they were going to Vulcan to see a healer, but now that they were nearly there Spock began to feel anxious. When he was finished dressing he remained standing by the biobed until McCoy turned and beckoned with a raised hand.

 

“Come on, Spock. I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

 

Spock was grateful, because he was not sure he knew where he was meant to go.

 

It turned out that he need not have worried. Soon after leaving sickbay his feet began to carry him in the right direction, and he knew this was a path he had walked many times.

 

When they reached his quarters Spock let himself in and McCoy followed after him, hands clasped behind his back. Spock turned and watched curiously as McCoy’s eyes darted around the room and then finally settled on him. McCoy cleared his throat, took a step toward Spock, and then cleared his throat again.

 

“I think this is yours,” McCoy said, reaching out a hand with something small cupped in it. “I found it tied up in that shredded shirt you were wearing when you got back. Here.”

 

Spock stepped forward and took what was in McCoy’s hand, holding it up. It was the little carving Jim had made for him of the _Enterprise_. Spock felt a rush of emotion just as he had the first time he’d seen it, a burst of joy and pride—not tempered by sorrow this time, because now he was home.

 

Spock looked up to see McCoy smiling at him and he felt the need to return that smile, even though the muscles of his face seemed to resist. He battled with the urge and finally just nodded his head, his eyes closing as he said, “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. I’m sure Jim’ll be down here as soon as he can get away.” Then, as he went to the door, “You should probably go ahead and get ready to go.”

 

When the doctor was gone Spock found a travel case and packed it with several items he thought he might need.

 

Everything around him was so familiar and yet strange, and though he was able to remember where everything was, he could not seem to recall where most of the items had come from.

 

He went to a shelf and picked up a small statuette and focused on it until a faded memory sprang to mind. Spock was pleased when he recalled that the little figurine had been a gift from his mother, though he was startled to realize that it had been some time since he had thought of her.

 

Feeling suddenly discouraged by the splintered and incomplete nature of his memories, Spock sat down on his bed to wait.

 

He felt it when the ship dropped out of warp, and the stirring of anxiety along the link soon after made him ache.

 

Jim was unhappy.

 

Spock called to him, needing to be near him. He closed his eyes and waited for Jim to come, and when the doors to his quarters finally hissed open Spock’s breath caught. He opened his eyes and stood facing Jim.

 

They moved forward at the same time, meeting each other halfway and colliding with a mutual sigh of pleasure. Spock ran his hands under Jim’s shirt, soaking up the heat of his skin and pulling him closer. Jim’s fists balled up in the material of Spock’s tunic as he pressed his face against Spock’s neck and moaned. It was a despondent sound, and it spoke of a bleeding kind of pain that made Spock hold Jim tighter, digging his fingers into him.

 

Unable to resist, he turned his head to gently nip at the sensitive skin of Jim’s neck in a possessive gesture.

 

“ _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_ ,” Spock said, lifting his head enough to brush his lips against Jim’s ear.

 

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Jim’s voice was steady, but the link still thrummed with his misery. “Spock, do you feel like yourself? You know what you’re doing, don’t you? You’re not…”

 

Jim couldn’t finish and ducked his head, his breath sharp and uneven on Spock’s shoulder.

 

Spock didn’t know what to make of Jim’s query. Spock was himself, and he was cognizant of his actions. Though his memories might be incomplete, he was certain of his need for Jim. Spock decided that perhaps Jim merely needed to be reminded of his importance and tilted Jim’s head up so that he could kiss him. Their lips pressed, soft and melting together, their hands wandering in reverent exploration.

 

When they pulled apart Jim said breathlessly, “I don’t want to let you go.”

 

“Do not,” Spock said matter-of-factly.

 

Jim chuckled and stood back a little, squeezing Spock’s arms. “We should probably beam down.” Jim was quiet for a moment, and he swallowed hard before continuing, “The healer is expecting us.”

 

Jim did not move, however, and it was Spock who finally pulled away. He went to the bed to retrieve his case and headed for the door.

 

Spock was certain that the healer could help restore order to his thoughts and wondered at Jim’s reluctance. He stopped at the door and waited patiently until Jim joined him, following him out into the corridor and leading him to the transporter room.

 

McCoy was there waiting for them with a medkit in hand, and together they stepped onto the transporter pad.

 

“Are you ready?” McCoy asked Kirk.

 

“As I’ll ever be,” Kirk replied. “Energize.”

 

Spock sent reassurance through the link, and though Kirk’s mood remained somber he offered Spock a small smile just as they began to dematerialize.

 

When Spock was aware again he felt a blast of burning wind and blinked against the light of Vulcan’s sun. A K-type main-sequence star, Spock’s mind supplied, and at 0.68 AU from the planet it appeared almost twenty percent wider than Sol does on Earth. Intrigued by the sudden flow of information, Spock began to calculate the exact percentage, but his thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from the doctor.

 

“Hot as blazes!” McCoy spat. “So, where’s this healing temple?”

 

Spock caught the doctor’s eye and gestured with his hand up toward rolling hills of burning rock that stretched up into the jagged peaks of the Llangon Mountains. The temple was nestled at the foot of the Mountains, but they would still have to climb up a series of staircases carved into the rock.

 

McCoy sighed and pulled a hypo out of his bag. He administered it to Jim, and after a pause, to himself.

 

“Tri-ox compound,” he explained when both Jim and Spock gave him questioning looks. “Atmosphere’s thinner here and that’s a hell of a climb.” He started up the stone staircase, adding, “Especially in this blasted heat.”

 

Jim nodded and followed, Spock close behind. Both Jim and the doctor were soon sweating profusely and Spock did not like the labored quality of their breathing.

 

Jim was somber and silent but for his heaving breaths. McCoy, on the other hand, noisily vocalized his discomfort, and Spock wondered if it would become necessary for him to carry the doctor to the temple in order to alleviate some of his obvious distress. It occurred to him suddenly and with force that McCoy would never allow this, and Spock mentally shrugged off the idea altogether and continued the climb without interfering.

 

“I don’t see why we couldn’t beam directly into the temple,” McCoy complained. “I’m gonna need a healer by the time we get there.”

 

“It’s not permitted,” was all Jim said.

 

McCoy turned at the sound of Jim’s toneless voice. He made the rest of the climb in silence, peeking over his shoulder every so often to observe Jim as they wove their way up the hillside.

 

Spock wanted to reach out to Jim, but he sensed that he was mentally working through something that required all of his focus, and Spock did not wish to distract him.

 

They reached the top of the final hill and found themselves facing a building centered on a small plateau surrounded by carved out rock, the mountainside rising up red and jagged behind it. The structure was wide and one level, made of smooth earthen bricks the same rusty color as the surrounding stone.

 

Spock found the subtle lines and arches of the building beautiful. He turned with a joyfully pounding heart to the view behind him of the Shival Flats, stretched out in an endless plain of rock and sand that seemed to shimmer in the searing heat of day. Spock looked up at the spiked peaks of the mountains looming against the dusty orange sky, and he felt at peace.

 

He turned to see Jim watching him and could not understand the sorrow in his eyes. He took Jim’s hand, offering comfort. Jim seemed frozen in place so Spock led him to the curved entrance of the building, where a young Vulcan man in white robes was now waiting for them.

 

After casting a long glance at Spock and Jim’s clasped hands, the young man greeted them in the Vulcan way.

 

“I am Senet, apprentice of Healer T’Vhet. I will conduct you to the reception area where you may await the healer.”

 

Senet turned and led them down a bare hallway and through an arched doorway into a sunlit room. The room was bright but plain, with nothing adorning the walls except for two oval bladeless fans that hummed softly as they circulated the warm air. There were flat cushions on the floor lining the walls and a fire pot on a platform in the center of the room, its fire kept low during the heat of the day as it filled the room with incense.

 

Senet offered them refreshments and raised an affronted eyebrow when the men declined. He nodded to them and backed out of the room through a second doorway that was blocked by a plain, flat curtain.

 

Jim slipped his hand out of Spock’s and went to sit on a cushion by the high, narrow window, and when Spock sat down next to him, neatly folding his hands in his lap, Kirk’s expression grew stormy.

 

McCoy walked over and squatted down next to Jim. “You’re doing the right thing, you know.”

 

Staring straight ahead, Kirk said, “I’m not giving up yet. Let’s just wait and see what the healer says.”

 

McCoy retreated and Spock, concerned by the turmoil issuing through the link, sent out his love and acceptance to counter it. But this only seemed to make matters worse, and Jim was visibly shaken, his head dropping and his eyes squeezing shut.

 

Jim’s lips moved, but he said nothing.

 

“Tell me,” Spock encouraged.

 

Jim lifted his head and met Spock’s eyes, taking a deep breath. “Spock, I don’t want to—”

 

They all turned as a Vulcan woman entered the room. McCoy immediately introduced himself, and then Jim and Spock when he saw that neither of them were inclined to speak.

 

The Vulcan woman stepped forward, her long robes rustling faintly as she fastened her steely gaze on Spock and Jim in turn. Her face was well-lined and her features sharp, her white streaked hair tied up in a dark mass of braids on top of her head.

 

She turned her eyes on each of them as she spoke, “Spock, son of Sarek, Captain James Kirk, Doctor Leonard McCoy, I am Healer T’Vhet. If you will follow me, we may begin.” With that, she turned and strode out of the room through curtained doorway Senet had gone through.

 

Jim had climbed to his feet while she was speaking and followed her through the curtain, McCoy on his heels and Spock bringing up the rear.

 

Spock heard McCoy say, “The chemical attacked the telepathic portion of the brain, causing them to completely lose control of their telepathy. Most of them died of shock, but I think—”

 

“I acquainted myself with the information you sent,” T’Vhet interrupted.

 

McCoy spluttered quietly but didn’t say anything else as T’Vhet led them through another short hallway. They ended up in a room similar to the one they had just come from, except that the firepot was closer to the wall and the cushions were arranged in the center of the room, with what appeared to be a sleeping pallet in a corner.

 

Senet was standing near the doorway, and he watched with interest as T’Vhet sat on the cushions and gestured for Jim and Spock to kneel in front of her. Spock felt compelled to obey her and dropped smoothly into a kneeling position facing her, but Jim hesitated. Spock reached up and caught his hand, guiding him down.

 

T’Vhet did not move a muscle, but Spock did not miss the disapproval that flashed in her eyes.

 

Confused, Spock released Jim’s hand and lowered his eyes.

 

“It is my understanding that you wish me to assess the bond between you,” T’Vhet said.

 

“Yes.” Kirk nodded.

 

She locked eyes with Kirk. “It is also my understanding that the bond was forced upon you by this one,” she glanced at Spock, “while he was under the influence of a chemical compound.”

 

Kirk swallowed hard and hesitated. His voice was low when he answered, “Yes.”

 

T’Vhet fell into silent contemplation, and Spock felt his heart rate increase as T’Vhet’s words sank in. Is that what had happened? Since waking up on the _Enterprise_ he had not thought back on what had occurred when they had found the cave, but Spock filled with horror as the memory of that night began to reform in his head. He saw Jim trapped beneath him, heard his pleading voice, felt Jim’s fear and anger flood into him as he initiated the meld.

 

He had done that. He had forced himself inside Jim’s mind, dominating and possessing his proud Captain. How could Jim bear to be near him? Did Jim want to break the bond? He would have every right. Spock suddenly felt the urge to bolt from the room but found that he could not move at all. His mind and his body were paralyzed in fear of the looming calamity.

 

Spock tried to focus, tried to pull himself back.

 

“…I will join the three of us in a meld,” T’Vhet was saying.

 

“Well, let’s not waste time getting to know each other,” McCoy said archly from his cushion near the door.

 

Spock wanted to turn to McCoy, to beg him to intervene, but then T’Vhet’s fingertips were against his face, the touch no more than a whisper, and her presence was there in his head.

 

T’Vhet’s mind was steady but cold, and it flowed undeterred through the hurricane of Spock’s thoughts. Though the chaos did seem to repel her, she moved through the unforgiving tides of emotion with deliberate purpose until she found what she was looking for.

 

Giving off only the dimmest glow was Spock’s bond to T’Pring, a withered and dying thing next to the link to Jim. The link with Jim, their _bond_ , quivered beneath the strength of her mind’s touch, and just when Spock thought he would lose control and batter his mind against hers to protect it, her exploration stopped.

 

She began to pull him along the bond toward the man he cherished.

 

Jim was there, warm and golden, and despite T’Vhet’s presence, Spock was overjoyed when he found himself immersed in Jim’s dynamic mind. Jim’s consciousness twined with his and together they followed T’Vhet as she examined the bond from Jim’s end. T’Vhet seemed to encourage Jim’s mind to center on it, and his thoughts began to coalesce into a vision, his mind’s interpretation of the bond.

 

The vision shocked Spock to his core, and his whole being cried out with self-recrimination. He tried to retreat away from the revelation before him, but T’Vhet’s steely mind held him fast.

 

Where the bond should have connected in a fixed, singular way there was instead a bundle of filaments stretching out in different directions, plunging possessively into Jim’s mind. It looked messy, painful. He felt T’Vhet pull back from the fragmented bond and then the dark cloud of Jim’s misery fell around them. Spock rushed to wrap his presence around Jim’s, but he was being pulled back, thrust into his own head.

 

He opened his eyes to see T’Vhet watching him with an unsympathetic gaze.

 

Jim looked grim, and his skin was dewy and pale.

 

“You have been experiencing unpleasant symptoms due to the bond,” T’Vhet said, half questioning, half telling.

 

Jim was floundering, lost. Spock turned to call for McCoy, but he was already up, and spoke for Jim. “While Spock was in a coma Jim experienced headaches and anxiety whenever he wasn’t in contact with him. He also has trouble sleeping, and has nightmares if he isn’t near him.”

 

“When did the nightmares start?” T’Vhet asked.

 

She was looking at McCoy now, but Jim answered, “That first night, after he bonded us.”

 

T’Vhet turned to Jim, but he stared straight ahead, seeming to see nothing. Spock could not bear to see the suffering on his face and reached for him, not caring if it was appropriate or not. He wrapped his hand around Jim’s and Jim, without moving, seemed to collapse in on himself.

 

“The bond must be broken,” T’Vhet announced. Spock’s heart constricted and his vision blurred. He barely heard when T’Vhet continued, “It is abnormal and unhealthy, formed by an unstable mind, and it is fortunate that more damage was not done.”

 

“Can’t you…” Jim started, his voice wavering. “Can’t it be fixed?”

 

“No.”

 

“Jim,” McCoy soothed.

 

Spock’s heart was pounding, his blood thundering in his ears. He was going to be separated from Jim, split apart from his other half. The healer meant to cleave his soul in two for what he had done. He had harmed his _t’hy’la_ , endangering Jim’s very sanity by bonding them together without his control intact.

 

“So how does that work? When do you want to do it?” McCoy asked the healer.

 

“I will do it now. The longer it is left intact, the more damage it will do.” T’Vhet nodded to Senet and he left the room, then she turned to Jim. “You will experience some discomfort. I would suggest that you lie down.”

 

T’Vhet stood, gesturing to the pallet in the corner and Jim rose, stumbling a little as he stepped off the cushions.

 

Spock got up to assist him, reaching out to him. But Senet returned with another Vulcan male and they came to Spock, taking his arms.

 

They urged him toward the curtained doorway, speaking in calm, cool voices. Spock felt that he should listen to them, that he should cooperate, but his whole being was screaming out for Jim, and he did not want to go. Spock tried to pull away, surging toward Jim, needing to feel him again before this thing was done to them, before their minds were ripped apart.

 

He needed to bear his soul to him so that Jim would know, even after the bond was destroyed, how much he meant to Spock.

 

He needed…needed Jim.

 

This must not happen. Spock panicked.

 

“Doctor,” Spock begged. “Please, help me! Doctor…”

 

He saw McCoy watching him, blue eyes going glassy, as the two Vulcans dragged Spock through the doorway. Spock fought them, crying out now in despair as the curtain fell back into place, blocking his view of Jim. He reached, clawed, struggled, but he was not strong enough to tear himself away. He was not strong enough to go to Jim and stop this unthinkable thing from occurring.

 

“Spock!” he heard Jim cry as they dragged him down a hallway. “Wait, no! Spock!”

 

Then T’Vhet was speaking and McCoy was arguing before silence fell, a terrible silence that split Spock’s mind with fear, spilling out the shambles of his emotions.

 

“Jim!” he sobbed, unashamed and aching.

 

“I am going to render you unconscious now. It will be a mercy.”

 

He felt the pinch of Senet’s fingers and went down, screaming out his terror as his mind filled with darkness.

 

*

 

He was not unaware. It was not, Spock thought, such a mercy as Senet had suggested.

 

There could be no relief from this, no soothing this wound that was opening up in him. He felt the snap of another strand and in the dark he whimpered, knowing that soon his other half would be torn from him completely.

 

Desperate, he threw himself down the length of the bond, seeking out his _t’hy’la_. He came up against an impenetrable wall and knew that it was T’Vhet in Jim’s mind, blocking him. He hurled himself against her, beseeching her to stop, but another thread snapped and he fell back, his very spirit wasted and wavering.

 

He felt a light touch against his mind, assuring him that it was normal to feel the urge to resist and that he must attempt to conquer his emotions, for his own sake.

 

The bond was almost severed. Spock could feel it trembling as T’Vhet’s mind tugged at the final strand, pulling it taut. Spock cried out in his mind, and knew that it echoed out into the physical world when he felt another mind slide into his in response. Senet was hovering on the edge of his thoughts, urging him not to fall into the yawning pit that was opening inside him.

 

Spock held on, foolishly hoping that some miraculous intervention might yet save him from this loss.

 

The strand pulled impossibly tight, and Senet moved deeper into Spock’s thoughts, trying to hold him together, to anchor him. Spock resisted, mentally clawing his way to the bond and wrapping his being around it. He felt the final strand snap, and the bond collapsed into a void.

 

Shattered, Spock fell.

 

*

 

All was shadows. There was noise, a rhythmic thudding, filling the murky space where Spock existed. It hurt to move and it hurt not to move, so Spock tried to sink farther down where nothing could touch him, and the measured drumbeat stuttered, stopped.

 

Then a foreign presence was there, chanting the beat like a timekeeper, and the thumping resumed, stronger.

 

Spock realized this song was his heart beating, and if he had a heart then he had a body, waiting somewhere for him beyond this cloudy, colorless place. A suggestion came to him from the presence, encouraging him to stay with his body, to let his being flow into it until it permeated every cell. Spock did this, simultaneously sinking and swelling as he became his physical self, drifting away from the dark landscape in his mind and opening his eyes to light and color.

 

And pain.

 

Spock screamed and fell back into the chaos of his mind. The presence, T’Vhet, he now understood, flowed around him and blunted the pain, though it still remained a massive weight against him. He was pinned down by it, trapped, frightened.

 

T’Vhet began to pull Spock toward the pain, indifferent to his fear, and Spock fought against her. Her inner voice filled him.

 

_You must control, and through control you will find relief from the pain._

 

Spock fought for control. Together they moved around the place where the bond had died and the pain ripped through them both in relentless waves. T’Vhet was not deterred, and began to build a wall around the gaping wound. When the pain began to beat against the mental construct and fall away Spock joined her, eager for relief.

 

Together they worked, for hours or days, until the pain was walled away, and then T’Vhet withdrew.

 

Spock opened his eyes to see that he was in a small room, lying on a sleeping pallet, T’Vhet kneeling next to him. There was a curtainless window, a meditation mat in a corner, and a small cabinet with two drawers and a lamp and on top of it in another corner. It was a barren room painted a sickly beige, and Spock felt the hollowness in him grow as he mentally reached for something that was not there.

 

“Jim,” he whispered.

 

“You will rest now and I will return when I can,” T’Vhet said. “We still have much to do.”

 

T’Vhet rose, and Spock knew by the set of her thin lips and the deepening of the lines around her mouth and eyes that she was tired. She turned and went through the doorway, releasing the curtain that had been tied back.

 

Spock was alone. He resisted the urge to reach for Jim again, reminding himself over and over that Jim was gone, and that he must avoid the place where Jim had been. The hollowness was a kind of pain, deep and keening, but it was not the screaming agony he had felt before. He curled up on the pallet and attempted to accept what was.

 

Alone, he slept.

 

*

  
  


The first thing Spock did when he next woke was to ask for Jim. Senet, who had been watching over him, informed him that Doctor McCoy had taken Jim back aboard the _Enterprise_ after the bond was broken, and the ship had left Vulcan shortly after. Jim was gone, not just from his mind but from the planet. Spock did not know when he would see him again.

 

Disconsolate, Spock flung himself back down into sleep.

 

He rested for days, slipping in and out of consciousness, but eventually T’Vhet insisted that it was time to restore order to his mind.

 

During yet another meld, T’Vhet helped him structure his thoughts, gathering up the chaos and slipping everything neatly into place in the multi-layered gridwork of his mind. Stratum upon substratum, rows and columns went up. When the seemingly endless task was complete, one week and six days had passed since the bond had been broken.

 

T’Vhet was satisfied with Spock’s progress, and when she declared that it was time for Spock to rebuild his shields and reestablish his controls a part of him recoiled in fear.

 

Spock was doing so well and was entirely himself again, but one important task remained. He must relearn how to suppress his emotions, a task he dreaded because there was one emotion he was hesitant to part with. He hid it in his mind in the hope that T’Vhet would not find it, but to no avail.

 

The emotion was stronger than anything else Spock felt, and it was like a beacon, drawing T’Vhet’s attention no matter how hard he tried to conceal it.

 

T’Vhet was prudent though, and skirted around it. Instead, she led Spock to his fiery anger and taught him to squelch it until the last ember died out. In this same manner they addressed his sadness, his jealousy, his joy.

 

His guilt, seemingly endless, dark stretches of it, took much more time to pull apart and dispose of. The lives he had taken in his madness flashed before him, and he was made to understand that although the loss of life was unfortunate, there was no sense in feeling guilt over the things he had done when he had not been himself.

 

Reluctantly, Spock let it go.

 

Days passed. When she felt he was ready, T’Vhet turned him to his fear, and together they disassembled it with logic, until only one unmanageable feeling remained.

 

His love for Jim was incandescent and beautiful, and though he no longer feared its loss, there was something deep in him that resisted its destruction. T’Vhet felt him balk and held the feeling up, letting it stand out in sharp contrast to her cool and ordered logic.

 

T’Vhet showed him its danger, its destructive power. She nudged him toward it, silently proclaiming that the feeling he harbored for this human was an affront to logic and must be conquered. When Spock mentally rebelled against this claim she ruthlessly reached into his mind and paraded every emotional display he had ever been guilty of before him and asked the question:

 

_Are you Vulcan?_

 

Spock felt the weight of his failures and his crimes crushing him and threw them off, goaded into action. He held the love that had once been so luminous, a balm to his soul, and  watched it fade as he willed it down into deepest pit he could find within himself.

 

It flickered, a pinprick that twinkled like starlight, and then it vanished.

 

T’Vhet broke the meld, nodding in approval.

 

Spock of Vulcan looked upon the world with new eyes, and he felt nothing.

 

*

 

“Spock, I will arrange for T’Pring to travel here so that your bond with her may be restored.” T’Vhet said one morning over their breakfast of _kreyla_ and _gespar_ juice. “Do you have any objections?”

 

Spock chewed slowly, giving himself time to consider his answer.

 

Spock was aware that T’Pring did not particularly care for him. During one of their rare communications, she had expressed her opinion that his human blood would likely prevent him from experiencing “his time” at all. She seemed to appreciate the privilege and status that came with being connected to his house, so he thought it likely that she would agree to restore the bond so that she could continue as before.

 

It would be dangerous to remain unbonded. If T’Pring was still willing to be his mate—for whatever reason—then he had no logical reason to object to the bond and leave himself open to danger.

 

A faint concern began to wiggle its way to the surface of Spock’s mind but he stamped it down and steeled himself to answer.

 

“I have no objections.”

 

“Very well,” T’Vhet said, and though her tone was even he sensed that she was satisfied.

 

*

 

Spock stood alone on the ledge, his back to the temple as he gazed out at the Shival Flats.

 

The sand blew hot on the wind, prickling against Spock’s skin in dry blasts as it swept in off the valley. The glaring light of Vulcan’s sun beat upon the windswept dunes and reflected off the glassy volcanic rock, bouncing off of the ledge he stood on to envelope him in heated waves. His nictitating membranes slid over the surface of his eyes, protecting them from the onslaught of heat and wind, and the fiery world around him seemed to dull.

 

The wind whipped at his flowing robes, and the crack of the fabric snapping on the valley breeze and his own deep breathing were the only sounds he heard.

 

He let his mind sweep over his thoughts, and finding them still perfectly ordered, he focused his attention outward on the blistering landscape of his home planet. He had long been away from here, and it was unfortunate that the conditions of his return had been so dire.

 

The crunch of footsteps against the gritty, sand dusted surface of the rock ledge pulled Spock from his quiet contemplation. He turned to see Senet approaching him from the healing temple.

 

When Senet stopped to stand in front of him, Spock dipped his head in acknowledgment and said, “Senet.”

 

“Spock.” Senet came straight to the point, “We have received a communication from the _Enterprise_. They are now in orbit around Vulcan and will beam you aboard when you are ready. Also, T’Vhet would speak with you, at your convenience.”

 

“Thank you, Senet. I will go to her now.”

 

Senet turned and walked back to the temple, Spock trailing after him. Spock knew that T’Vhet would wish to confirm his intention to renew the bond with T’Pring, and would also need to ascertain that his mind was still stable so that she could release him from her care.

 

Spock went to T’Vhet and a brief meld was enough to assure her that his control was intact and his thoughts well-ordered. When she dismissed him he padded down the long hall to his room and drew the curtain back. T’Pring would take a transport to the healing temple at zero seven hundred hours the next day to reestablish their bond. When that was accomplished, Spock would beam aboard the _Enterprise_ to resume his duties as first officer.

 

In preparation for his imminent departure Spock retrieved his empty travel case and opened the small cabinet where his clothes were stored. The fact that he had packed so many items was testament to his state of mind at the time. He picked up his blue uniform shirt and placed it in the case. It was illogical to have packed a uniform since he would have to first be cleared for duty by Doctor McCoy before he was put back on the roster.

 

He had been prone to many irrational urges and actions after his exposure to the Cadoan chemical weapon. He trusted that Captain Kirk would be able to maintain his professionalism, and that none of Spock’s indiscretions would be held against him.

 

It was unfortunate that the Captain had been witness to Spock’s mental instability and total loss of control but… _kaiidth_.

 

Spock picked up his Starfleet issue trousers and was in the process of neatly refolding them when something fell from the black folds of fabric. The little piece of wood had been snagged on a thread, and Spock picked it up and examined it curiously. His heart rate began to accelerate as he recognized the little carving of the _Enterprise_.

 

It should not affect him so, this meaningless token. Spock stood abruptly, but resisted the urge to pace the small room. He wrapped his fingers around the carving, and something flared inside him, threatening to burst into an uncontrollable conflagration.

 

Spock gasped, floundering for a moment in the surge of emotions.

 

He must not allow himself to return to chaos; he must control his emotions. Spock stood silent and focused on the breath entering and leaving his lungs, stilling his mind and bringing his heart rate down to an acceptable level before seating himself again.

 

He was in control.

 

Spock packed the rest of his belongings, but for the tunic and trousers he meant to wear in the morning. He carefully placed the carving in the folds of a robe and closed the travel case.

 

When this was done he went to the computer terminal in the common area. He sent a message to the _Enterprise_ confirming his intention to beam aboard the next morning and another message to T’Pring. That accomplished, he went back to his room and settled onto the mat in the corner for his evening meditation.

 

Spock was in control of his emotions and the night passed in peace.

 

*

 

When Spock woke he dressed and attended to his morning ablutions and confirmed his beam up time and coordinates. He retrieved his case and went in search of T’Vhet, finding her just as she was leaving the dining area.

 

Having made his decision, Spock saw no reason postpone his departure. Despite T’Vhet’s opinion on the matter most important to him, he saw no reason to do her the discourtesy of effecting anything other than a proper leave-taking.

 

“T’Vhet, it has been my honor, but I must take my leave now,” he said.

 

For a moment she appeared completely blank, but then, with slightly narrowed eyes, she said, “Spock, T’Pring is scheduled to arrive within the hour so that your bond with her may be restored. It is unwise to remain without a mate.”

 

“I contacted T’Pring last night and informed her that her presence here is no longer required,” Spock said. Projecting absolute calm and confidence, he continued, “And as for a mate, I have already chosen.”

 

He allowed his words to sink in for a moment, and then raised his hand in the _ta’al_.

 

“Live long and prosper.”

 

He admitted to himself that it was illogical to enjoy the look of barely concealed shock on the old healer’s face, but he reasoned that this one small emotional indulgence would do no harm. He appreciated all that T’Vhet had done to help him heal, but allowing himself to feel love for his _t’hy’la_ was _not_ an affront to logic. Spock would prove to himself that he could love him while maintaining that which made him Vulcan.

 

“Peace and long life,” T’Vhet said, her mask of non-emotion firmly back in place.

 

Spock gave a respectful bow before turning and leaving the temple.

 

His Captain… _Jim_ was waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_ \- "I cherish thee"   
> _Kaiidth_ \- "What is, is"
> 
> Don't lose hope; there are three chapters left!
> 
> Art for this chapter can be found [here](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/108928325736/healing-a-drawing-for-my-story-undone).


	13. Chapter 13

**\- James T. Kirk -**

  


James T. Kirk, captain of the starship _Enterprise_ , was no coward. He told himself this for the tenth time in one hour, reminding himself that he had unflinchingly faced death and unbeatable odds on countless occasions, and therefore he should have no problem meeting his first officer in the transporter room when he beamed up.

 

The last time he had seen Spock was when the healer’s assistants had dragged him from the room in the healing temple, and Kirk had no idea how to face him now.

 

His own experience with the breaking of their bond had been traumatic. Even just thinking back on the moment when the final thread between them had snapped was enough to make Kirk break out in a cold sweat. Kirk shifted in the center seat and closed his eyes as the memory rose up again.

  


*

  


The healer cautioned that he would experience “some discomfort,” a laughable warning given what he actually experienced. “Discomfort” might describe what he felt a week or so after the severance, but when T’Vhet began to break each strand that bound him to Spock he felt an excruciating pain akin to what one might feel undergoing an amputation without anesthesia.

 

In a way, that’s exactly what it felt like: an amputation. He felt as though he was losing something that was as much a part of himself as his own limbs.

 

Perhaps T’Vhet was unprepared for the true depth of his connection to Spock. Perhaps Kirk’s own unwillingness to be separated from him made the task more difficult. Or perhaps the old Vulcan healer just simply didn’t give a damn about soothing the raging feelings of an emotional human.

 

He couldn’t know for sure, and really, it didn’t matter. It was done. The link with Spock was gone and there was a vast gulf of barren nothing in its place.

 

He almost called it all off—his health be damned—when he heard Spock’s desperate weeping echoing down the hall. He had never heard such a sound come out of Spock before. Out of anyone. Up until that moment his main concern had been what would happen between Spock and himself after the bond was broken and they returned to the ship. But Spock’s violent reaction made him wonder if there was a possibility that the severing of the bond might actually destroy Spock.

 

He fought then, struggling off the pallet despite T’Vhet’s firm hand on his chest. It was McCoy who calmed him and made him lie down again, though the doctor loudly questioned T’Vhet’s methods and wouldn’t allow her to continue until she reassured him that Spock would be alright.

 

“It is natural to resist the breaking of a bond,” T’Vhet said. “The intensity of his response can be attributed to the damage done to his mind. Senet will tend to him.”

 

McCoy settled down next to Kirk, though for a moment he seemed torn between staying put and going after Spock. He stayed with his captain though, and when the bond was broken and Kirk lay writhing in pain, he administered a hypo that plunged Kirk into a dreamlike stupor.

 

The pain and the emptiness that filled the place where Spock had been was still there, but Kirk felt as though he was floating above it, like observing a disaster from afar.

 

McCoy stayed with Kirk for long enough to be sure that he was stable and then insisted on seeing Spock, despite T’Vhet’s assurances that his health would be attended to.

 

“He is Vulcan and he will be taken care of in the Vulcan way,” T’Vhet said in her cool, unwavering voice.

 

“Yeah, well he’s also a Starfleet officer and my friend,” McCoy’s voice became tightly controlled to match her tone. “So I’m not leaving until I determine if his health is in danger.”

 

There was a pause and then, “Very well.”

 

Kirk listened to their footsteps retreat and closed his eyes, drifting in and out of a light sleep.

 

He didn’t know how long he lay there on the pallet, his mind floating just above the fresh wounds of loss. The familiar whir of a medical scanner brought him back, and he realized that McCoy was near him and had been for some time.

 

“I think he’s alright to move now. I need to get him back to the ship,” McCoy told T’Vhet. She must have been in the doorway, because Kirk could not see her.

 

“Do you require assistance?” he heard her say.

 

“No. We’ll be fine.”

 

“But, Spock—” Kirk protested, rising up on his elbows.

 

“Jim, he could be here for weeks,” McCoy said. He reached out and pulled Kirk up so that he was sitting before adding, “The _Enterprise_ needs her captain.”

 

They stood and Kirk swayed and leaned against McCoy. His vision focused on the floor as each foot moved forward, carrying him farther away from Spock. It felt wrong, and Kirk wondered at the fact that he still felt the pull that drew him to his friend. It seemed impossible that there had ever been a time when they weren’t bound together in mutual orbit, two stars locked together by gravitational forces.

 

Each step away from Spock seemed to drain some of his lifeforce, and by the time McCoy led him out into the warm Vulcan evening, the sky afire in angry reds and oranges, Kirk felt emptied out. His breath came in sharp gasps as his mind began to whirl and spin out of control.

 

Everything was all wrong.

 

“Jim! Breathe!” McCoy’s voice sounded in his ear. “Come on, you need to relax.”

 

Kirk tried to focus on his breathing, but the emptiness was swallowing him up and his lungs were burning. He heard the chirp of a communicator and McCoy grumbled, “Not permitted, my ass! I’m not dragging him down those steps in his condition.”

 

When the clean, cool air of the _Enterprise_ closed around him it soothed his lungs, but the emptiness remained. He didn’t complain when McCoy dragged him to sick bay, or when McCoy ordered three full days of rest before allowing him to go back on duty. He felt listless, and nothing around him seemed real.

 

When he finally stepped onto the bridge again, he started to feel more like himself, although he was incomplete.

 

McCoy assured him that physically he was fine, and not wanting to worry his friend, Kirk played down the emotional impact the bond-breaking had had on him. He made a show of taking his meals in the main mess and he smiled and teased his way through social interactions. But there were random moments when he’d stop what he was doing, dropping off in the middle of a sentence or coming to a halt while walking down a corridor, and he’d stare through everything into the void that had opened up in him.

 

Then, coming back to himself, he’d plunge forward again with renewed energy and empty smiles, desperate to escape the darkness within him.

 

After a few days of that McCoy called him to sickbay, ostensibly for follow-up, and plunked down a drink in front of Kirk. He sipped from his own glass as he sat down.

 

Sure of what was coming, Kirk tensed up, staring into his glass as he waited for the concerned lecture and the questions he couldn’t answer. McCoy cleared his throat, but Kirk refused to look up and meet his friend’s eyes.

 

“Jim, I’m so sorry.”

 

Kirk’s head jerked up, and he was surprised to see the look genuine remorse on the doctor’s face. Kirk didn’t know what to say and so he said nothing, but McCoy’s acknowledgment that there was something to be sorry for seemed to validate everything Kirk was feeling. Kirk’s chest tightened and he took a deep breath, rubbing at his burning eyes as sorrow swamped him.

 

“In my medical opinion, you did the right thing,” McCoy said, ignoring the sour look Kirk gave him at that, “but as your friend…I’m sorry the both of you had to hurt that way. I didn’t know it was going be like that.

 

“Now, I’m not gonna lecture you or slap you with meaningless platitudes, but I want you to take care of yourself, and tell me if there’s anything at all you need. Can you do that?”

 

“Yeah, Bones. I can do that.” Kirk’s smile was weak but his eyes lit up with affection for his friend.

 

“Good.” McCoy nodded.

 

They finished their drinks in a comfortable silence.

 

Kirk had needed that. He stopped fighting the emotions that were flooding him, stopped trying to fake complacency he didn’t feel.

 

To his surprise his pain did not overwhelm him, and though he received the occasional concerned look, his loyalty to his ship and his crew kept him from falling into the hole inside himself. He couldn’t afford to let himself slip and so he held himself firmly together while on duty, waiting until he collapsed into his bed to curl in on himself as he sorted through his emotions.

 

Though his thoughts always fell upon Spock in the cool quiet of his quarters, he was relieved to find that once he fell asleep no dreams came to haunt him, and he woke feeling rested, if a bit lonely.

 

The days passed and Kirk decided that he was fine, and although the throbbing pain of loss had become a dull hollowness, it was something he could live with. He put Spock out of his mind entirely, not wanting to think about what it would do to his freshly healed wounds to see the Vulcan again.

  


*

  


Now, pacing the bridge, Kirk found himself confronted with the matter he had carefully avoided thinking about for weeks. Coming to an abrupt stop that startled the lieutenant currently manning the science station, Kirk stepped lightly down to the lower level and picked up the PADD he had left perched on the arm of the center seat. He decided that, though he was certainly not a coward, he was behind on paperwork and his time would be better spent attending to his duties as captain.

 

He could welcome Spock later, in private, after he had a chance to settle in. Satisfied with his decision, Kirk made himself comfortable in the captain’s chair—only to have McCoy contact him a moment later.

 

“Yes, Doctor?”

 

“I need you in the main transporter room.” McCoy’s voice was low and serious.

 

Kirk felt his skin prickle.

 

“I’m on my way.” He jumped up, dumping the PADD onto the deck in his haste. To a baffled Sulu he said, “You have the conn.”

 

He ignored the concerned looks the bridge crew gave him as he darted into the turbolift. It wasn’t quite time for Spock to beam up yet, so there must be something wrong. Had something happened to Spock? Kirk mentally reached out to Spock only to be painfully reminded that Spock was no longer there in his mind.

 

Kirk hurried out of the turbolift as soon as the doors opened and ran down the corridor to the transporter room, his heart in his throat. If something had happened to Spock he didn’t know what he’d do. He needed Spock to be ok.

 

The doors parted in front of him and he burst into the transporter room, eyes on the empty pad.

 

“Where’s the fire?” McCoy said amiably.

 

Kirk glanced at the technician manning the controls, noting his confused expression, and then turned to McCoy, who had cocked his head and was watching him curiously.

 

Spock hadn’t beamed up yet and it appeared that everything was fine.

 

“You b—You did that on purpose,” Kirk said, still panting a little.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McCoy drawled. “And straighten your uniform. You look like a crazy person.”

 

Frustrated but too relieved to argue, Kirk straightened his shirt and crossed his arms over his chest. Keeping his voice cool, he said, “Spock’s not due to beam up for another fifteen minutes, Doctor McCoy.”

 

Refusing to be cowed by the formal address, McCoy smiled and said, “I thought we might talk while we wait for him.”

 

“Really.”

 

“Yes.” McCoy looked over at the transporter tech, who was politely ignoring them, and moved closer to Kirk, “You’ve been avoiding me the past few days, and I want to know how you’re doing.”

 

“I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve been busy,” Kirk said. His heart rate was going back to normal and he was beginning to relax, allowing him to adopt a more casual tone. He hoped it would mollify the doctor.

 

“So then you don’t mind telling me how you’re feeling about Spock coming back?”

 

Kirk’s first instinct was to tell McCoy to mind his own business. But his friend had been quietly supportive and understanding of Kirk’s need for space ever since the bond-breaking, so Kirk took a moment to consider his answer.

 

“I don’t know how I feel.” When McCoy gave him an unconvinced look he added, “I just want my first officer back.”

 

“Is that all you want?” McCoy asked quietly, as though giving Kirk the opportunity to pretend he hadn’t heard.

 

Kirk hitched his shoulders up a little in a helpless shrug and stared straight ahead, relieved when McCoy took the hint and stopped questioning him. He had just managed to calm himself down and he didn’t want to think about his feelings. Spock would be standing in front of him shortly and that was enough to think about.

 

After everything Spock had been through, who knew what kind of condition he was in. Kirk’s only concerns should be those of a captain for a crewmate and no more. Kirk’s own feelings didn’t matter at the moment.

 

Still, he felt himself break out in a light sweat as the minutes flew by. The memory of their brief time together before they had beamed down to Vulcan popped unbidden into Kirk’s mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Spock had been so tender, so affectionate, more himself than he had been on Nghia, but still not the logical Vulcan Kirk had known.

 

Did Spock even remember everything that had happened?

 

Kirk stood a little straighter when he heard the transporter technician ask him a question and nodded an affirmative without thinking. It was time.

 

McCoy said something to him, but his mind was spinning and all he could hear was the chiming hum of the transporter, and all he could see was the tall, lean figure materializing in front of him.

 

And then there he was, Spock, standing straight and looking so alien and exotic in his Vulcan robes, his face a perfect mask of calm and dignity.

 

“Permission to come aboard,” Spock said.

 

His voice was painfully inflectionless. Kirk caught his breath and replied, “Permission granted.”

 

“Spock,” McCoy stepped forward, grinning. “You’re looking as fit as a fiddle.”

 

Spock turned to regard McCoy. “A most illogical statement, Doctor, as I am in no way similar to a stringed musical instrument.”

 

It should have made Kirk glad to hear the exchange, but Spock’s voice was too even, his eyes holding none of that familiar spark.

 

“Well, I can see they fixed you right up,” McCoy said wryly. “You’re as Vulcan as ever.”

 

“I will take that as a compliment,” Spock said, stepping off the transporter pad.

 

“You _would_.”

 

Spock ignored McCoy’s comment and turned to Kirk. “Captain.”

 

Kirk felt a sick twisting in his gut at the toneless way Spock addressed him, and the distant brown eyes were a painful reminder that things could never be the as they had been before this mission on Nghia. Even the familiar repartee between Spock and McCoy had seemed forced, as though Spock saw it as merely a social obligation that must be observed.

 

Kirk couldn’t bear to look at Spock’s closed off face, and as they exited the transporter room he backed away and said, “I’ve got to get back to the bridge. Welcome back, Spock.” He nodded to McCoy. “Doctor.”

 

He didn’t allow himself to wonder at the faintly surprised look on Spock’s face.

 

As he walked down the corridor at what he hoped was a relaxed pace, he imagined that he could feel Spock’s gaze on his back and that it was warm, soaking into his skin and making his steps lighter. But imagining it, _wanting it_ , did not make it so.

  


*

  


Kirk stared down at the duty roster Spock had handed over for his approval earlier, and he chewed his lip. He perused the schedule, solemnly considering his next move.

 

He was glad to have Spock back aboard, but he couldn’t deny that things were awkward between them. Spock was so stiff in his presence, his speech stilted whenever he spoke to Kirk. When Kirk glanced over at him he was startled by the stark contrast between what Spock had been before their ordeal and what he was now, and he once again found himself wondering how much Spock remembered of what had happened.

 

Sometimes on the bridge he felt Spock’s eyes on him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as heat flooded him. When that happened the wound in his mind throbbed back to life and he found himself snapping, lashing out verbally as he tried to shake the feeling off. One or twice he turned in time to catch Spock steadily watching him, and he’d been disturbed by the look in his first officer’s eyes.

 

Accusation? No, it was worse than that. It was disappointment.

 

Well, Spock had every right to be disappointed. Kirk should have known that everything Spock had done had been the result of the alien chemical and that as soon as he was better he’d regret it. Kirk had suspected as much, but he’d still allowed himself to become emotionally involved with Spock on Nghia.

 

He had told Spock he _loved_ _him_.

 

It pained Kirk to think that they would never again be as close as they had been before Nghia, and he hoped that with the passage of time they would be able to repair their friendship. Until then the best thing he could do was give Spock time to adjust.

 

Having decided that, Kirk made the necessary adjustments to the schedule. Though he was partly motivated by the desire to give Spock the space he needed, he couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that just couldn’t bear to look upon Spock and know that he could never have him. Not the way he wanted, anyway.

 

Kirk needed space as well.

  


*

  


If Kirk had thought that not working with Spock would give him some relief he was wrong.

 

They still saw each other when they changed shifts and they seemed to develop the most terrible timing, running into each other—sometimes literally—in odd places. If Kirk hadn’t been so sure that Spock was uncomfortable in his presence, he might have suspected that Spock was purposely putting himself in Kirk’s path every chance he got.

 

Kirk was becoming restless and irritable and was relieved when they reached Acmar VI, where they would be conducting a planetary survey. The M class planet was uninhabited, and as long as no hidden dangers popped up, it was a prime candidate for colonization.

 

Kirk was almost in the turbolift when Spock stopped him.

 

“Captain, sensor scans indicate areas of geological instability, as well as geothermal and volcanic activity. It does not seem wise for you to expose yourself to such risk,” Spock said, back stiff and hands clasped behind him.

 

Kirk's rising spirits fell a little at Spock’s clearly disapproving expression. “I appreciate your concern, Commander, but I will be joining the survey team. The area we're beaming down to isn't near any fault lines or volcanic activity, so I'm sure we'll be fine.”

 

Kirk stepped into the turbolift but turned with a pronounced frown when Spock moved forward to keep the doors from closing.

 

“I do not think it appropriate—“

 

“This is not open for discussion.” Kirk reached for the handle, giving Spock a sharp look. “If you'll excuse me.”

 

“Very well, sir.” Spock stepped back, his face impassive.

 

As the lift descended Kirk contemplated Spock's behavior. He liked to think that Spock was purely concerned about his safety, but Spock was as mechanical and cool as he had been since returning to the _Enterprise_. It seemed likely, given his recent behavior, that he was more concerned with regulations and procedures. Kirk knew he really should wait until the initial survey was completed before beaming down to a new planet, but in this case there seemed to be no obvious dangers in the region being explored.

 

And Kirk needed this. Surely Spock must see how badly Kirk needed this, so his attempt to thwart Kirk stung.

 

Kirk shook the thought off and made his way to the transporter room.

 

Once the survey team was assembled on the transporter pads—two security officers and three scientists—Kirk called out, “Energize.”

 

He heaved a sigh of relief when they materialized in field of gently waving tall grass, the entire area bathed in warm sunlight. Kirk ran his hand over the fluttering tips of the chartreuse blades and lifted his face to a cloudless sky of deep, rich blue.

 

And Spock had wanted to deprive him of this.

 

Kirk smiled when the young scientist on his left shook her leg and gently swatted away a brightly colored insect. Another sprang from a blade of grass and landed on her knee, and this time she aimed her tricorder at it.

 

She grinned up at Kirk, pushing her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ears. “This is why I always wear the pants instead of the skirt.” A moment later she seemed to realize who she was talking to her and her cheeks flushed pink. Glancing back down at her tricorder, she murmured, “Not venomous.”

 

Kirk turned to see that the other two scientists had split up, each flanked by a security officer. “Check in every fifteen,” he called out. He looked back at the scientist at his side and said cheerfully, “Looks like you and I are pairing up, Vilchis.”

 

Recalling that she specialized in entomology, Kirk filled with warm amusement when she carefully relocated the bug before giving him her attention.

 

Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at the nearby treeline. “Yes, sir!”

 

They had barely entered the wooded area when Vilchis dropped into a crouch and began scanning vegetation growing between the twisting roots of a tree. “Interesting...some of these organic compounds could have medicinal value.” She stopped scanning and retrieved a specimen container from the pouch on her hip. “Just let me get some samples...”

 

“Take your time.” Kirk smiled and looked up at the round, pale green leaves flapping enthusiastically on thin branches. The wind picked up and Kirk watched in wonder as leaves began to pull loose and spin toward the ground, floating down all around them like lazy green rain.

 

Vilchis stood and laughed as leaves pattered against her head, getting caught in her hair.

 

The wind eased and the leaf exodus slowly came to a halt.

 

“It's really lovely here,” Vilchis said, tucking the small vial back in her pouch.

 

“It is,” Kirk agreed, his mood growing lighter. He briefly thought of Spock and wondered what his first officer would think of this place. There was a time when Kirk would have been able to make him confess to appreciating the beauty of such a place. What would Spock say now?

 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Kirk turned and made his way toward a patch of burgundy foliage growing in a small clearing between the trees. Deep purple stalks rose up to about hip-height, topped with thick, flowering spikes. As Kirk circled around the edge of a thick patch of the plants, he noticed the soft red spikes leaning toward him and took a step back.

 

He turned to Vilchis, who was already scanning the plants, and Spock's warning about risk-taking came to mind. He was not about to prove Spock right if he could help it.

 

“Dangerous?” he asked once Vilchis lowered her tricorder.

 

“No, sir, I don't think so,” Vilchis said, coming to stand next to him. “The spikes are heat-seeking. Highly sensitive too, it would seem.”

 

Kirk nodded and turned away from the plants, this time walking toward a rocky patch of land where the trees thinned out. They made their way down a gentle slope, stopping when they came upon nodes of multi-colored rock poking through the flattened waves of thin grass.

 

“The composition of some of these minerals is a bit unusual. Geology will have a field day,” Vilchis said as she took readings. “I've made note of their location.”

 

“Good,” Kirk said. Then, looking around, “Any signs of wildlife?”

 

“No, sir. Besides the insects, most of the lifeforms on this planet seem to be concentrated in the larger bodies of water.”

 

Kirk nodded, pleased that they would not have to worry about that, at least. The insects they had encountered so far had not presented any danger, and the nearest large body of water was about ninety-six kilometers away.

 

They started walking again, Kirk relaxing more with every step.

 

Five minutes had passed when Kirk heard a yelp behind him. He turned around in time to see Vilchis drop between a few large tufts of grass, vanishing from sight.

 

“Vilchis!” Kirk vaulted over a small boulder and came to an abrupt halt when he reached the place where she had fallen. Looking down, he saw a roughly oval hole that stretched down into darkness. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head to look in. “Vilchis, are you alright?”

 

He heard a cough and the crunch of gravel as a pale face came into view not far below.

 

Vilchis squinted up at Kirk as she dusted off her shirt. “I'm fine. I scratched up my arm a little trying to stop myself from falling, but it's not much of a drop.”

 

Kirk's shoulders sagged with relief. “Give me your hands and I'll pull you up.”

 

“Just a moment, Captain. I dropped the tricorder, but it can't be too far,” Vilchis said before ducking out of sight.

 

“Be careful,” Kirk warned. “We don't know what's down there.”

 

A moment later a beam of light illuminated the ground beneath the hole, revealing dirt and small rocks. “Found it!” Vilchis called out, still hidden from view.

 

“Good. Let’s get you out of there.”

 

Kirk heard shuffling and the clattering of rock, and his heart jumped when Vilchis cried out, “Captain!”

 

“What is it?” Kirk bent down lower, peering deeper into the hole. The light was turned away from the entrance, but he could just make out the ground below. “Vilchis, report!”

 

The silence seemed to drag out for a small eternity and then he heard Vilchis' voice, farther away this time. “You've got to come see this, Captain! It's incredible!”

 

Kirk grit his teeth, but said calmly, “Come out of there. It may not be safe.”

 

He heard footsteps coming closer and a soft whirring noise. “The tricorder was on the fritz for a minute, but I made some adjustments and it's working now. There are no dangerous chemicals, minerals, or gasses down here, and no sign of any life forms other than...whatever these are.”

 

Kirk hesitated, intrigued but still feeling cautious.

 

“Permission to explore further, sir?” She sounded hopeful. “The cave doesn't appear to be very deep, but this is...it’s really beautiful.”

 

“Hang on, I'm coming down,” Kirk said, swinging his legs into the hole. The area around the opening lit up as Vilchis aimed the light, and Kirk saw that the rock wall just beneath the hole had plenty of handholds. Lowering himself carefully, he half slid, half climbed to the ground.

 

He found himself in a short tunnel that sloped steeply down, opening up into a chamber below. He followed Vilchis, the light filling the space as they stepped down into the chamber. The walls glittered, patches of crystalline rock scattered above and around them. It was beautiful, but Kirk wondered at the awe he had heard in Vilchis' voice.

 

Looking down he saw a small pool of clear water that disappeared beneath a large crack in the rock at floor level. It was likely this chamber was a part of a system of caves, and Kirk wondered how extensive it might be.

 

“Well, it's—” Kirk stopped when he noticed small, faintly glowing spots above them.

 

“It's beautiful. I'm going to turn the light off now, Captain,” Vilchis said, sounding pleased with herself.

 

“Oh,” Kirk breathed when the light clicked off. “What...”

 

Above them hundreds of blue green lights glowed, fading in and out like the twinkling of stars.

 

“Insects, sir,” Vilchis said, her voice soft and distant in the dark. “Like the Arachnocampa species on earth. Glowworms.”

 

“It...it _is_ beautiful.” Kirk tilted his head up, looking all around them.

 

“If they're similar to the glowworms on earth, the adults glow only intermittently, but the larva—”

 

They both turned to face the tunnel when they heard the sound of falling dirt and pebbles. A moment later the tunnel lit up as someone dropped to the ground through the hole.

 

“Jim!” Spock's voice carried through to the chamber, loud and charged with panic.

 

Spock had a phaser in one hand and flashlight in the other, and he took a few quick steps forward as a security officer dropped down behind him. Spock stopped when the light flooded the lower chamber, and his eyes locked with Kirk's.

 

“Spock! Why aren't you on the ship?” Kirk asked, eyebrows raising in bafflement.

 

“Captain...” Spock paused, breathing heavily. “Your lifesign vanished.”

 

“My...what?” Kirk's mind was whirling in confusion, his mood cycling through a loop of exasperation, amusement, and curiosity.

 

“Oh,” Vilchis gasped, stepping closer to Kirk and looking around. “The rock. Something in mineral composition must interfere with the scanners. I should have figured...”

 

“Indeed,” Spock said, glancing at Vilchis. His breathing was more even, but his eyes still looked a little wide, with some tightly-reigned emotion there.

 

“So, you were monitoring our lifesigns, and when the sensors no longer picked them up you...rushed to our rescue,” Kirk said slowly, full understanding dawning.

 

“I came in a timely fashion, with the intent of ascertaining your status.”

 

Spock was stiff and formal again, returning his phaser to his belt with a quick, smooth movement. Still, Kirk felt something in himself grow warm and light.

 

“You couldn't have had someone on the ground come and check on us?” Kirk bit down on a smile. “You had to come yourself?”

 

Something in Spock seemed to close up, his eyes becoming shuttered. “Captain, should you not have alerted someone before taking it upon yourself to investigate an underground cave on a potentially dangerous planet?”

 

So far they hadn't encountered anything remotely dangerous, but if Kirk had known about the possibility of the mineral around them interfering with sensors he would have checked in first. He wasn't about to foist blame onto Vilchis for the oversight, but he did give her a quick, pointed glance before conceding, “You're absolutely right Mister Spock. I'll be more careful in the future.”

 

Spock peered around Kirk at the chamber and Kirk stepped back, extending an arm in invitation. “As long as you're here, why don't you come see what we've found?”

 

Spock nodded and stepped out of the tunnel, the security officer—Setzer, Kirk recalled—right behind him.

 

“I admit, I am curious to see what could have so effectively distracted you from proper procedure,” Spock said, his tone cool.

 

“Huh.” Kirk clenched his jaw, unsure how to take that. He decided to let it go. “Vilchis, turn off your light. Spock, you too.”

 

The lights clicked off, one after the other, and they found themselves in darkness. Kirk was sure he could feel the moment when Spock took in the sight above them, though he couldn't have said where the feeling came from.

 

Setzer made a pleased sound, and Kirk heard him shuffle deeper into the chamber, near where he knew Vilchis was standing.

 

“It looks just like a starry sky,” Setzer said with obvious admiration.

 

Kirk looked up at the small, glowing lights and smiled. His eyes began to adjust to the dark and Kirk became aware of the faint outline of Spock standing next to him. He was closer than Kirk had thought, his head tilted back.

 

“What do you think, Spock?” Kirk asked, his voice low. He moved a little closer to Spock, and his skin seemed to buzz faintly with a pleasant energy. He felt a pulling sensation inside him but ignored it, turning his gaze to the celestial sight above them as he waited for an answer.

 

“It is...” Spock softly cleared his throat. “Pleasing.”

 

Kirk smiled, faintly amazed when he felt Spock's eyes turn on him. How was it possible that he was so aware of Spock, even in the dark?

 

“It's like our own private night sky,” Kirk said. Vilchis and Setzer had moved further away, and Kirk was hardly aware of them anymore.

 

“A fanciful notion, but yes, I concur,” Spock said. “Though I do not recognize these constellations.”

 

There was something teasing in Spock's voice, and Kirk chuckled, filled with delight. They stood still for a few long minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. They came back to themselves when they heard a thud and a clatter somewhere near them, followed by a laugh.

 

“Sorry,” Vilchis said, somewhere to their left. “I didn't mean to drag you down with me.”

 

“I'm fine. Here, let me help you with that,” Setzer replied.

 

They heard shuffling and then approaching footsteps.

 

Kirk sighed softly and cast a wistful glance at the glowing lights. “We should head back up to the surface.” Knowing his smile could be heard in his voice, he turned to Spock and added, “We're getting distracted from proper procedure.”

 

“Human influence does tend to have a detrimental effect on my efficiency.”

 

Kirk laughed and made his way to the tunnel. “I'll bet it does.”

 

Setzer was hoisting Vilchis up through the hole when they reached it. A moment after she had ascended her hand reached down and caught Setzer's arm, helping to pull him up and out of sight.

 

Kirk found a handhold and pulled himself up, bracing his feet against rock. He felt strong hands on his waist, carefully lifting him into the sunlight, and he landed in the grass with soft sigh. His skin was tingling and the bright light made his eyes burn. He was so disoriented by the shift in scenery that by the time he turned to reach down for Spock his first officer was already pulling himself onto the grass next to Kirk.

 

Spock stood and gave his uniform shirt a little tug before clasping his hands behind his back.

 

Kirk stood up next to him and caught Setzer's eye. “Why don't you accompany Vilchis. I don't think she's finished here, and she might need help if she falls down any more holes.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Setzer turned with a smile to Vilchis, and the two started down off toward a lush thicket.

 

Kirk turned to Spock to find him as unreadable and distant as ever. It would have disappointed him if he hadn't just gained a new understanding of his friend. He had been wrong to assume that things were irrevocably changed between them. He had let his own sense of awkwardness color his interpretation of Spock's behavior, and he had completely misunderstood him.

 

Spock took out his communicator and flipped it open. “Transporter room, stand by.” He looked at Kirk expectantly, and he knew Spock was seeking verification of his intent.

 

“Shall we head back to the ship?” Kirk asked.

 

Spock nodded. “Yes, Captain. I believe that would be wise.”

 

Kirk grinned when Spock's communicator chirped and McCoy's worried voice pierced through the peaceful silence.

 

“Spock! Is Jim alright?”

 

“He is uninjured, Doctor. Your presence will not be required in the transporter room, so do not trouble yourself,” Spock smoothly answered.

 

“Don't trouble myself? With you two around? Ha!”

 

Spock's expression seemed to draw tight for a moment, but he said nothing.

 

“Well, keep out of trouble. I'd be perfectly happy to not see hide nor hair of you in my sick bay for a good long while. McCoy out.”

 

The connection cut off and Spock raised an eyebrow.

 

Kirk smiled warmly at the familiar expression. “You had McCoy on standby, huh?”

 

“A warranted precaution, given your propensity for stumbling into adversity.”

 

“ _My_ propensity...” Kirk wondered just how affected Spock had been when his lifesign had disappeared. He was about to tease Spock for his own bad luck when he thought of Nghia and a sudden weight descended on him.

 

Spock did not seem to notice the change in his mood and said, “Are you ready?”

 

“Yes, let's go.”

 

Kirk gazed thoughtfully at his friend. Of course Spock had been distant. Kirk understood now how important it had been for Spock to behave in an especially Vulcan manner after such a terrible loss of control. But Spock did still care for him, still worried over him as much as he had before their ordeal. Kirk could see that now, and he wouldn't let himself forget it.

 

“Transporter room. Two to beam up,” Spock said into the communicator.

 

“Spock, I didn't say this before, but I should have.” Kirk swallowed and stared into dark brown eyes. “I'm really glad you're back.”

 

Spock did not smile, but his eyes softened, growing warmer. For a moment it appeared that he was on the verge of speaking, but then something in him seemed to settle.

 

He nodded in acceptance of Kirk's words, and there was something serene in his expression when the transporter beam took them, bringing them home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! There are only two chapters left, and I plan on posting them more quickly as long as real life cooperates with me. Thank you for all your wonderful comments!
> 
> If anyone is curious, my playlist for this story can be found on [ 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/rowan-baines/what-if-this-storm-ends).
> 
> And just a reminder, if you want to know how a chapter is coming along or when I'll be posting, I talk about my fic a lot on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/cmdrspockette). =)


	14. Chapter 14

The _Enterprise_ was on its way to the designated position to decode the directive tape that held their new orders. It would take them a few days to reach their destination, but Kirk suspected the tape’s contents related to the rapidly deteriorating negotiations with the Klingon Empire.

 

It was a serious issue and Kirk wondered that it did not weigh more heavily on him, but ever since the survey mission on Acmar VI he had found himself in high spirits.

 

His mood was not even dampened when an experiment in gene-splicing went wrong in one of the science labs. It resulted in a fruit-bearing vine that grew so aggressively when the project's scientists were off shift, that the plant overran the botany lab in which it was held.

 

The genetically engineered plant had already damaged some of the more fragile equipment in the lab, its invasive tendrils creeping into every crevice, and some of its more enthusiastic shoots had managed to wind down the corridors and into neighboring labs.

 

Kirk strode down the corridor, humming softly under his breath as he neared the laboratory where the experimental plant was kept.

 

He turned a corner and came upon one of the department heads of life sciences crouched by the door that led into the overrun botany lab—or “ground zero”, as the scientists were calling it. Kirk came to a halt, watching in bemusement as she plucked a grape-like fruit from the vine and ate it while thoughtfully regarding the scanner in her hand.

 

“Fascinating,” Kirk heard her say under her breath.

 

He couldn’t help but grin at that. Many of the scientists on the ship greatly admired Spock, and Kirk had noticed that more than one of them seemed to have unconsciously adopted some of Spock’s mannerisms.

 

Once he had his expression appropriately serious, Kirk cleared his throat loudly to get her attention. Kirk frowned a little when he got no response.

 

He thought for a moment until he recalled the woman’s name and said, “Lieutenant Isley.”

 

She looked up at him, blinking through the sheet of red hair that had fallen across her bespectacled face. Eyes going wide, she jumped to her feet.

 

“Captain.” She snapped to attention.

 

“At ease,” Kirk said, biting down on a smile. “Are you sure those are safe to eat, Lieutenant?”

 

“Yes sir. They’re actually very good. Sweet and just a little bit tart,” Lieutenant Isley said brightly.

 

“I see. Is Mister Spock around?”

 

“Yes, sir, he’s at ground ze–he’s in the lab.” Lieutenant Isley pointed over her shoulder at the open door.

 

“Thank you. I hope to see this mess cleaned up soon.” Kirk’s voice was firm but he couldn’t quite keep the playfulness out of his expression.

 

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

 

Lieutenant Isley hurriedly walked away, following a particularly thick vine that disappeared into a doorway further down the corridor.

 

Kirk went to the open door, stepping over a leafy tangle, and stopped to peer inside.

 

Spock was talking to an agrobiologist who was shifting his weight from foot to foot as he nervously wrung his hands. Kirk could tell by Spock’s subtly softened posture that he was feeling relaxed, but the ensign was obviously intimidated by the Vulcan’s formidable presence. When Spock dismissed him he practically scurried away.

 

As Spock started to turn to the door Kirk ducked back out into the corridor, an impish impulse overcoming him.

 

Thinking back on everything that had happened since Spock had returned to the _Enterprise_ , Kirk had come to suspect that Spock had not been running into him randomly but deliberately. Although he hadn’t done it again since the survey mission, Kirk couldn’t pass up the chance to see how Spock would react when the tables were turned.

 

Just as Spock’s shadow fell into the corridor, Kirk turned and walked through the doorway.

 

Kirk had misjudged Spock’s proximity to the door though, and in the next moment found himself colliding with a solid Vulcan body. Spock’s hands flew up and caught Kirk by the shoulders before he could rebound into the corridor, but a moment later Spock’s eyes widened in an un-Vulcan display of surprise as he stumbled away from Kirk. His heel caught on a vine, but Kirk grabbed him and pulled him through the doorway to keep him from falling backward. He gently slid his hands down Spock’s arms as he released him.

 

“Captain,” Spock said, sounding a little breathless.

 

Kirk smiled. “Mister Spock.”

 

He was about to speak again when a breathy exclamation drew his attention. Kirk turned to see Sulu walking toward them, examining the vine with something like reverence in his eyes.

 

“Captain, I’m off duty, but I’d like to help out here if I’m needed,” he said, adding more quietly, “It’s magnificent.”

 

“Have at it,” Kirk said, turning back to Spock with another smile ready on his lips.

 

Spock was gone.

 

He had left without even giving Kirk a verbal report on the current situation and this was more than a little unusual. During their previous “surprise” encounters Spock had seemed unperturbed, and Kirk wondered what was different now to make him react with such apparent consternation.

 

Kirk heard Sulu coo something affectionate at the vine, but found that he was too distracted to be amused. He walked back toward the turbolift.

 

He was off shift, and wanting some time to sort through his thoughts, he headed to his quarters.

 

Once there he sank into the chair at his desk as he considered the situation. He had come so close to losing Spock, and even after he had gotten him back he’d been afraid that their relationship would be too damaged by everything that had happened to truly be repaired.

 

After Acmar VI he had realized that he did have his friend back, and that he would do anything to keep him. Things were not as easy between them as they had been—they no longer played chess or took meals together—but if there was something bothering Spock he wanted the issue dealt with.

 

They had yet to talk to each other about what had happened on Nghia, and Kirk suspected that they wouldn’t be able to truly move past it and strengthen their friendship unless they addressed the situation. For all Kirk knew, Spock couldn’t remember any of it and had been confused by Kirk’s initial response to him when he’d come back on board.

 

Kirk hated not knowing where he stood and decided he would confront Spock at the first opportunity. Perhaps before he reported for his shift the next morning.

 

Having a plan helped soothe Kirk’s mind. He stood up, changed out of his uniform, and headed for the gym.

  


*

 

Kirk sighed in the dark of his cabin and rolled from his side onto his back, staring up at the faintly visible ceiling.

 

He had been trying for hours to fall asleep and was failing miserably. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Spock. He could admit to himself that he was somewhat worried about talking to Spock in the morning, but he couldn’t understand what kind of game his mind was playing by bringing up such specific memories of Spock.

 

The feel of Spock’s strong hands grabbing him so that he wouldn’t fall. Their painfully tender embrace before Spock had beamed down to Vulcan to see the healer. The burning animal need as Spock had pressed against him in the shelter on Nghia, devouring his mouth in a searing kiss.

 

Kirk groaned. He turned back onto his side and then onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow as his breathing quickened.

 

He forced his mind away from thoughts of Spock’s physical presence, only to find himself immersed in memories of Spock’s thoughts cradling his, their minds touching and overlapping and winding together. He felt it then, the throbbing pain of the emptiness where the bond had been, a wound that would probably never completely heal, and he nearly cried out with the sudden need to be near Spock.

 

He shouldn’t entertain thoughts like that. He was trying to repair his friendship with Spock and the last thing the Vulcan needed was an emotional human clamoring for his attention. Kirk loved Spock, but that love could be whatever Spock needed it to be. If Spock needed him as a friend then that’s what Kirk would be.

 

Kirk finally sat up, abandoning all attempts at sleeping. Their next mission would most likely be a serious one, and Kirk knew it would be best to sort out any issues with his first officer sooner rather than later.

 

Beta shift had been over for nearly an hour, so Spock would most likely be in his quarters by now, perhaps preparing to meditate, or maybe finishing up any paperwork he hadn’t gotten to during his shift. Kirk was fairly certain that Spock would be awake for some time and realized he could find no reason why he shouldn’t go talk to Spock immediately.

 

Kirk climbed out of bed and stripped off his sleep clothes. He got dressed, opting for a comfortable set of civilian clothes over his uniform. He didn’t want to go to Spock as his captain.

 

Heart beating faster but jaw set in determination, Kirk walked out into the quiet corridor. When he reached Spock’s door he stopped and willed himself to be calm, then he lifted up a hand.

 

At that moment the door opened and Spock, face to face with his captain, let out a small breath. His face quickly became a calm mask, but the tense lines of his body hinted at a deep unease and Kirk regretted that he was most likely the cause of it.

 

He was on the verge of making an excuse so that he might leave, but Spock’s voice pinned him to the spot.

 

“Captain.” He had the same even tone that had chilled Kirk when Spock had first come back aboard.

 

Refusing to be hurt by it this time, Kirk decided to view it as a challenge. “Spock, I wondered if I might have a word with you?”

 

Spock stood quietly facing him, and the stony silence nearly broke down Kirk’s resolve. But then Spock’s composure cracked, just enough that the barest hint of light came into his eyes. He stepped back to allow Kirk to enter.

 

“Of course, Captain.”

 

“Where were you headed?” Kirk asked as he went through the door. He realized that he had his arms awkwardly crossed over his chest and let them drop to his sides as he turned to face Spock.

 

“I have multiple experiments going in the labs and I had intended to devote myself to one of them, since my attempts at meditation have failed.” Spock said this as if it was only a small confession.

 

If Spock’s mental balance was so upset that he wasn’t able to meditate then it was probably a good thing Kirk hadn’t waited until morning to talk to him.

 

“You were off in a hurry when I saw you earlier.” Kirk kept his tone light. “I hope you got the fire put out.”

 

“Fire, sir?”

 

The corners of Kirk’s mouth tugged up as he watched Spock’s expression go from mildly embarrassed, to playful, to dignified again.

 

His purpose for being there began to weigh heavily on him, however, and the space between them seemed to crackle with nervous energy. Kirk took a step closer to Spock, but dropped his eyes when he could no longer meet that unfaltering gaze.

 

When he looked up Spock had not moved, but he was no longer watching Kirk, his gaze now softened and on the floor. It made him seem vulnerable and Kirk wanted very badly to go to him, to put his hands on him and offer comfort.

 

“Why did you run from me earlier?” Kirk asked. He tried to sound relaxed, but the conversation they were about to have had the potential to pull everything to pieces and they both knew it.

 

“I did not run.”

 

“Spock.”

 

For a few long moments Kirk worried that Spock would refuse to communicate with him, eyes shuttered and body stiff in a silent, icy denunciation. His unease was just beginning to bloom into something spectacular when Spock finally spoke.

 

“When I touched you…” He paused and Kirk found himself holding his breath. “My shields were not firmly in place. When we touched, I felt your affection for me.”

 

“And that upset you because—” Kirk cut himself off, afraid to even guess at what was coming next. He swallowed hard.

 

“Because I do not deserve it.”

 

 _That_ was not what he expected. The silence would have been deafening if not for the rushed thumping of Kirk’s heartbeat in his ears. He blinked and slowly let out a breath.

 

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

 

“Captain—Jim,” Spock corrected himself, “I remember everything that happened on Nghia.”

 

“Oh.” Kirk wasn’t sure what to say, and his mind automatically dragged up memories of his own failures on that planet. After a pause he said, “Spock, whatever you did on Nghia wasn’t your fault. You were…compromised.”

 

“What I did to you was a terrible crime. I violated your mind, your trust, and would have violated your body if you had not stopped me.” The tips of Spock’s ears were flushing green, but he continued, “It is true that I was experiencing a loss of control due to a chemical influence, but that does not excuse my actions. I hurt you, and I killed...I took life.”

 

Spock had been frightening at times on Nghia, Kirk could not deny that. But he had also been so lost, so exposed. He remembered Spock’s face after he’d been struck by Kirk, blood flowing from his broken skin and anguish in his eyes. Kirk wanted to reach out now and shake Spock, to make him understand the depth of Kirk’s own remorse over everything that had occurred.

 

“Maybe you did make mistakes, but I could have handled things better myself. You were sick and I should have done a better job of protecting you. Now, let me finish.”

 

Spock closed his mouth, swallowing whatever words he’d been about to interrupt with.

 

“We both did our best to watch out for each other in what was a very difficult and dangerous situation, and it won’t do any good to sit around now feeling sorry about what happened. You killed to keep us alive, and what happened in the cave...that doesn’t matter. We’re here now, and everything is okay. I just...I need to know that things can be like they were before.”

 

Kirk didn’t know how to bring the conversation around to what he really wanted to say and so he simply stopped, watching Spock for any sign that he was becoming agitated either by Kirk’s presence or his words.

 

Spock, however, looked calm. “You may rely on me as you always have, Captain.”

 

There was a real warmth in his words that buoyed Kirk and gave him the courage to continue.

 

“Spock, when you first got back and I was...well, I was avoiding you,” Kirk said sheepishly. “But you were purposely seeking me out and running into me, weren’t you?”

 

It was Spock’s turn to look sheepish, though it manifested only as a slight pursing of his lips and a small furrow on his brow. “I had thought that it would be necessary for me to earn back the regard you once had for me, that I would have to prove myself to you. But when I realized that your feelings toward me were unchanged, I could not bring myself to believe that I deserved it. It was, admittedly, an emotional reaction, but I allowed myself to be consumed by guilt.”

 

“Spock, you’re my friend, and you always will be. No matter what happens,” Kirk assured him.

 

To his surprise his words seemed to disturb Spock, and he was certain that Spock’s expression shifted into something bleak for a moment before his face became inscrutable again.

 

“I am honored by your friendship.”

 

“And I’m honored by yours,” Kirk said with an encouraging smile.

 

There was something he was missing, and his mind filled the silence with pressing doubts and questions he didn’t have the answers to. He felt he should say something, anything, but he could not seem to articulate his feelings. He took another step toward Spock, close enough to reach up and touch him, and was thinking of doing just that when Spock straightened himself and clasped his hands behind his back.

 

“May I take it that any issues you wished to discuss have been resolved?” Spock asked.

 

“Well, yes, I suppose they have,” Kirk reluctantly admitted. Though he couldn’t pinpoint why, he felt as though he was about to lose Spock somehow, and he didn’t want to leave him.

 

“Then if you will excuse me, I would like to make another attempt at meditating.”

 

Kirk’s heart sank. Everything in him was pulling toward Spock. The wound in his mind was pulsing to life, his hands tingling with the remembrance of Spock’s skin under his fingers. But if Spock wanted him to leave he would go.

 

Even if it made him feel as though he were falling into an abyss.

 

“Yes, of course,” Kirk said, backing away. “If you need anything, you know you can come to me.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Though Spock’s expression did not change Kirk sensed he meant it.

 

Kirk nodded, managed a smile that was far too weak, and turned to go. He would not look back at Spock. He must not.

 

Kirk stopped. His eyes locked on to the little wooden carving next to Spock’s computer terminal, and his heart skipped a beat.

 

Spock had already admitted that what he felt for Kirk was friendship. Or had he? He had said he didn’t deserve Kirk’s affection, and that he was honored by his friendship, but if there was even a chance…

 

“Jim?”

 

Kirk turned around and something fluttered wildly inside him at the sight of Spock. There was concern in Spock’s eyes but something else, too. Something strong and sharp like fear. Spock’s hands were no longer behind his back and he was poised as if to take a step forward, but he did not move.

 

Kirk wanted him.

 

He had always thought of Spock as handsome, but now he found him absolutely beautiful.

 

Despite Spock’s lean, wiry strength he seemed so defenseless. Spock was a being who was not capable of lying to himself and so could not protect himself from his own truths, however painful. He faced everything with courage and acceptance, and if Kirk had implied that all he desired was friendship then Spock would never press him for more.

 

“Are you ill?” Spock asked. He had finally taken a step closer, one hand rising in a gesture so tentative that it nearly broke Kirk’s heart.

 

Kirk was about to do something that could destroy the relationship he had been working to rebuild, but he simply refused to waste another moment on fear. He would risk everything if there was a chance that he could have Spock. He had to believe that what he was sensing from Spock right now was real.

 

Kirk closed the distance between them, placed his hands on Spock’s cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss.

 

Spock gasped into his mouth, but he did not pull away. Kirk pressed his body closer and gently stroked Spock’s high cheekbones with his thumbs. Spock’s mouth was soft and cool, and when he began to kiss back, lips parting and tongue lightly tasting, Kirk felt an exhilaration that was almost shattering in its intensity. As his focus narrowed down to the caress of Spock’s lips against his, he became certain that he had never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted this.

 

This was Spock, his Spock, tender yet controlled, a tall and slim and impossibly strong force against which Kirk could fling himself without the danger of harming either of them. Kirk could feel the warmth breaking through Spock’s cool reserve, and knew that deep beneath the layers of ordered thought, under the towering framework of self-discipline, lurked the same raw passion he had shown Kirk on Nghia.

 

This thought excited him and sent a nervous prickling along the surface of his skin that made him shiver. Spock pulled back a little, his eyes closed and his breath deep and steady against Kirk’s mouth.

 

“Are you alright?” Kirk asked.

 

“I…” Spock leaned into Kirk, his arms wrapping around Kirk’s waist as he laid his head on Kirk’s shoulder. “I do not know.”

 

“If you don’t think you can do this right now I can—”

 

“No.” Spock’s voice came out sharp and his head jerked up, startling Kirk. His voice softer, he continued. “Please, do not leave me.”

 

There was so much honest need and fearful wonder in Spock’s eyes that Kirk could not have moved away from him for anything at that moment.

 

He laid a light, teasing kiss on Spock’s mouth and breathed, “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes. I want this.” Spock eyes became very sober, “I want _you_ , if you will have me.”

 

Kirk felt a rush of exasperated fondness over the fact that Spock could question whether or not Kirk wanted him when they were currently wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. But then it occurred to him that Spock’s meaning went much deeper than that, and once again he was aware of the consuming inferno that raged deep within the man in his arms.

 

Kirk freely admitted to himself that he loved Spock, and he could not imagine his life without him, but when he thought back on the bond and all of the pain it had caused him he nearly withdrew from him. He loved Spock and wanted to be with him, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to consider going through that again. Right now he just wanted to be near him, to learn Spock’s body as he hadn’t been able to do during their frenzied encounter on Nghia.

 

He needed time.

 

As if he sensed Kirk’s inner struggle, Spock said, “I vow that I will show you the same consideration you have always shown me; I will never ask for more than you can give.”

 

Spock’s words sank in, flooding Kirk with a joy that went soul deep. In Spock’s arms he would always be safe, accepted, and cherished. He understood this, felt it so strongly that it became a fire within him, flowing through his veins and filling him with life.

 

Kirk pulled Spock into another kiss, this one burning and deep. Spock’s mouth opened and when his tongue swiped over Kirk’s lips he sucked it into his mouth, burning hotter at the small noise Spock made. Spock’s hands slipped under Kirk’s shirt and splayed on his back, pulling them more firmly together and pressing the unmistakable evidence of his desire against Kirk.

 

He broke their kiss to brokenly whisper Vulcan words in Kirk’s ear.

 

It seemed as though something in Kirk trembled, something aching and hollow that begged to be filled, to be completed. He sensed that Spock felt the same, and wondered if the some ghost of their bond remained, drawing them together. He needed Spock so badly, and he could feel Spock coming undone in his arms.

 

They were leaning heavily against each other now, arms tightly gripping, and it took great effort for Kirk to find his voice enough to ask “Bed..?”

 

In answer Spock began to walk them backward to the sleeping area, easily navigating around the edge of the desk and past the room divider. Kirk chuckled as he felt the bump of Spock’s legs against the edge of the bed, and then he was being pulled down on top of him.

 

Kirk sighed against Spock’s cheek as those firm hands slid from his waist to his broad back, kneading the tired muscles before sliding down again. Kirk kissed Spock’s ear from lobe to tip while rocking his hips to grind their erections together, creating a delicious friction that drew soft exclamations of pleasure from them both.

 

He wanted to undress Spock, to feel Spock’s skin against his, but he couldn’t seem to move away from him to do so. He settled for snaking a hand underneath Spock’s shirt to pinch a nipple hard while giving another firm thrust of his hips. Spock made a small, helpless sound and Kirk grinned into his ear.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Kirk murmured.

 

Spock’s heavy breathing and the squeeze of his hands on Kirk’s buttocks was the only response he gave.

 

A moment later his hands moved to Kirk’s waistband and his fingers slipped just underneath it before going still. His hands trembled there, and Kirk wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t stopped moving in order to lay a path of soft kisses along Spock’s jaw.

 

Kirk lifted himself up with his hands on either side of Spock and looked down into his half-lidded eyes. He was pleased to see that the fire there matched his own. Spock’s lips were parted and moist, and the disarray of his usually neat bangs gave him the look of a man debauched. Kirk leaned in and kissed the patches of green blooming on each cheek, and gently rubbed his thumb over the furrowed brow.

 

“You’re holding back,” Kirk said. There was no judgment in his voice, only a touch of concern.

 

Spock swallowed hard, and once he found his voice said, “I do not want to hurt you.”

 

Spock’s hands still hadn’t moved, his fingers trapped between the coarse fabric of the pants and Kirk’s heated skin. Kirk didn’t need telepathy to know that Spock was thinking of what had happened in the shelter on Nghia, and he struggled with his own memories of the incident before his attention centered back on the man beneath him now.

 

“It won’t be like that,” Kirk said with conviction. “I trust you.”

 

Spock continued to watch him, and when he pursed his lips slightly in uncertainty, Kirk added, “We can stop, if you like. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

 

Kirk chuckled at the raised eyebrow this earned him, and hummed happily when Spock’s hands began to move again, dipping completely beneath the waistband of his pants and squeezing.

 

“Here,” Kirk said, sitting up and pulling off his shirt. He lowered himself onto his side next to Spock and kicked off his boots, and then unfastened his pants before wriggling out of them. He turned his head and gave Spock a mischievous look before sliding his briefs over his hips and then off. That done, he stretched himself out as much as he could on the small bed.

 

Spock’s eyes devoured him, worshipful and alight with hunger.

 

Kirk felt languid beneath the weight of his own desire and his voice was husky when he said, “Touch me.”

 

Spock eagerly accepted the invitation to explore the body of the man he loved.

 

Kirk watched Spock’s face, and as the worry lines smoothed away and his eyes softened, Kirk began to appreciate how difficult it must be for him to be true to the Vulcan part of himself while at the same time finding ways to express the intense emotions he could barely admit to feeling.

 

He seemed to have struck a balance, for the moment, and pulled off his shirt before making himself comfortable next to Kirk. He was pressed so close, and though Kirk wanted to pull him closer, he lay back, open and waiting.

 

Spock’s hands roamed over Kirk’s body as if learning him, cataloguing every dip and bump as his fingers moved over Kirk’s smooth, broad chest, sliding over his ribs and ghosting teasingly along his hipbone and past Kirk’s groin.

 

Kirk watched Spock, marveling at the strength of his attraction to him. Kirk had only ever been with women before and there was nothing soft or feminine about Spock. He was all sharp angles and ropey muscle and even his touch, gentle as it was at the moment, conveyed such strength that Kirk might have recoiled had he not come to trust Spock so much.

 

Spock stroked his inner thigh and Kirk let his legs fall open with a sigh, but Spock kept moving, his hand gliding over Kirk’s knee and down to his foot, where he stopped to rub the arch and then the callused sole of each foot before kissing his way back up Kirk’s legs. The touch was tender, yet when Kirk met Spock’s eyes the expression there was burning and passionate.

 

The idea of giving himself up to Spock completely, of being possessed by him, sent a nervous thrill charging through Kirk.

 

Spock had made his way back up Kirk’s body and his face was nuzzled against Kirk’s chest, when it occurred to Kirk that Spock might be unsure of what to do. As far as Kirk knew Spock had only shown interest in any kind of sexual activity once, and that had been with a woman, while under the influence of spores.

 

And on Nghia he had been so feverish and consumed by his own passions that it had seemed he’d hardly been aware of what he was doing.

 

But Spock was moving again, his mouth sucking at Kirk’s skin and his tongue flicking out when he reached Kirk’s navel. Kirk’s breath hitched as Spock’s cheek brushed his cock and he groaned a small complaint when Spock pulled away to raise himself up. Kirk was achingly hard and he was so eager for more of Spock’s touch that he couldn’t control it when his body arched up off the bed toward him.

 

He was on the verge of letting out a pleading cry when Spock wrapped his fingers around Kirk’s cock and gave an experimental stroke, drawing a groan from him that was not a complaint this time. Encouraged by Kirk’s vocalization, Spock began to stroke him with a firm grip, from base to tip and down again, watching Kirk with searching eyes. When he rubbed his thumb over the head in a sweeping circle Kirk closed his eyes and let his head tilt back, his chest heaving out in a long sigh of pleasure.

 

“Spock,” Kirk gasped.

 

When he opened his eyes Spock was still watching him, but there was something animal in his expression, a naked hunger that made Kirk’s heart skip a beat. It was different seeing that look in his eyes now that his control was intact again, less frightening and all the more arousing because it suggested a passion so great that even unbending Vulcan control could not entirely suppress it.

 

Spock held his gaze for a few moments, cheeks flushed and lips parted, then he bent down and took the head of Kirk’s cock in his mouth. Kirk let out a gasping cry as the wet warmth enveloped him.

 

Kirk resisted the urge to thrust into Spock's mouth and clutched desperately at the blanket beneath him, twisting the fabric in his hands as Spock's movements became more sure and eager. Kirk began to pant out his pleasure, amazed at Spock's ability to give him just what he wanted. When he desired more pressure Spock's stroking hand squeezed tighter around him and when he cried out in his head for more of Spock's engulfing mouth Spock greedily sucked him down farther.

 

Spock must have felt his need, read him through their touch, and was willing to give anything to please him. That in itself was an intoxicating pleasure that sparked off an almost blinding flash of emotion in him. Spock must have felt it too because he began to hum around him, the fingers of his free hand digging possessively into the muscles of Kirk's heaving chest.

 

Kirk fisted a hand in Spock’s hair and placed the other over Spock’s hand on his chest, desperate for more contact.

 

Kirk's breath was coming in rough gasps, the pressure in him building and building until he was on the edge of bursting. When he looked down to see Spock's wet lips wrapped around him, his cheeks hollowed and his eyes black with need, Kirk's heart gave a dizzying lurch and his pleasure began to peak.

 

He panted out a warning, but Spock just increased the suction. Kirk tightened his fingers in Spock's hair, tugging a little too hard as he came in long, hot spurts down his lover’s throat.

 

"Oh, god, Spock!" he cried as the last of the shockwaves rolled through him, leaving him utterly spent.

 

Spock still had him in his mouth but when Kirk gave a little shudder he gently ran the flat of his tongue over Kirk's flagging erection in a cleansing sweep and sat up, watching Kirk with a tender expression.

 

When Spock lay next to him, Kirk pulled him close, kissing his forehead and finding his hand so he could tangle their fingers together. Spock seemed content to lie next to him, but as Kirk's mind slowly cleared, the euphoria fading into a lazy contentment, he realized that Spock's hard length was pressing against his hip. He leaned back a little to look Spock in the eyes, his lips quirked in a playful smile.

 

He was thoroughly exhausted, but he would not let his lover's need go unanswered. He released Spock's hand, and never breaking eye contact with Spock, he wet his fingers with his tongue and reached down to grip Spock's erection. Kirk palmed the head, and his hand slick with precum and saliva, began to stroke slowly up and down the straining shaft.

 

Spock leaned into him, wrapping his arm around Kirk as he struggled to keep his breath even. For Kirk he would do anything, but when it came to his own pleasure he still seemed to favor restraint, and the internal struggle was written clearly on his face.

 

"Spock, let me make you feel good," Kirk whispered. "Please," he added, nuzzling into Spock and kissing the tender skin behind his ear.

 

Something in Spock seemed to uncoil, and he let out a throaty moan as Kirk's fist continued to pump him, the motion gradually becoming harder and faster. He found Kirk's mouth with his and kissed him hard, thrusting into Kirk's grip as the last of his restraint burned away in the heat of his lust.

 

Kirk knew Spock was close when the strong Vulcan fingers began to grip him bruisingly, nails digging into him and dragging across his skin.

 

Kirk hissed. Wanting to drive Spock over the edge, he took Spock’s earlobe between his teeth and then released it to roughly whisper, "You're mine."

 

Spock let out a strangled cry and his hips jerked as he spilled his release into Kirk's hand.

 

Kirk held him gently and when the stuttering motion of Spock's hips eased, Kirk turned and reached over the side of the bed, snatching up his shirt and wiping his hand clean. He turned back around and gently wiped at Spock, stopping when Spock jerked away from his touch, his body trembling.

 

"Sorry," he murmured, dropping the shirt to the floor and stretching out next to Spock again. Spock was clean enough for now; they could shower later.

 

Kirk pulled Spock into a light embrace, watching him for any signs of discomfort. As the last of Spock's tremors faded they melted into each other, Spock's head resting heavily on his shoulder. Kirk mused that Spock must experience not only physical exhaustion from such intimate activities, but emotional exhaustion as well. He wondered how much of his own emotions had flooded into Spock’s unguarded mind.

 

Kirk stroked Spock's hair, gratified by the fact that Spock was willing to give himself to Kirk in this way, so completely and with such trust. Spock's face was relaxed now, almost tranquil, but Kirk knew he would still strive to maintain his strict Vulcan ideals in all areas but this.

 

“Jim,” Spock rumbled, his voice lower than usual. It seemed to be all that he could manage at the moment, so Kirk smiled and held him tighter.

 

“I want to make you happy,” Kirk blurted out after a long silence.

 

He felt a moment of foolishness over stating his desire to draw emotion from his Vulcan lover.

 

But then his eyes grew bright with love and wonder when Spock replied, “You do.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left, and it'll be a shorter one. =)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter! I hope you enjoy it. =)

_"This friend of yours, the Vulcan. He seems to have the ability to block our scanner. I think perhaps I will find out why. I will have him dissected."_

 

Kirk woke up some time before his alarm was set to go off, with the Klingon commander Kor’s words ringing in his ears and his heart pounding.

 

It had been five days since he and Spock had come together as lovers, and about ten hours since they had returned from the planet Organia.

 

Feeling the need to move, Kirk scooted up, rested on an elbow, and looked down at his sleeping bedmate. Spock's face was completely relaxed in repose, his softened features and ruffled hair making him look younger and exposed. Kirk could just make out the dark line of thick eyelashes against pale skin, and his heart twisted at the thought of any harm coming to Spock.

 

It seemed unthinkable that anyone could want to hurt such good, intelligent being, but Kirk knew all too well that the galaxy was full of dangers as well as twisted creatures that would tear Spock apart given the opportunity.

 

In fact, in their line of work there was a high chance that one or both of them would be seriously injured or killed in the line of duty. Kirk was sure that Spock would quote him an exact percentage were the question put to him, and he smiled sadly down at him.

 

He ached to hold him.

 

Kirk traced his fingers along Spock’s cheekbone, frowning as he thought back on the mission to Organia.

 

It had, in its way, been a success.

 

Shortly after scanning the coded directive tape and learning of their new orders, the ship had been attacked by Klingons. The _Enterprise_ destroyed the Klingon ship, but war had been declared and Kirk had felt weighed down and solemn in the face of it.

 

"War. We didn't want it, but we got it," Kirk had said.

 

"Curious how often you humans manage to obtain that which you do not want," had been Spock's response.

 

There had been a hint of judgment in his voice, and Kirk knew that the Vulcan was more disturbed by the situation than he would admit.

 

Kirk didn't want to think of the feeling he'd experienced when the Klingons had taken Spock away to interrogate him. He had been afraid in a way that he never was for himself and his own safety. Learning afterward that Spock had been subjected to a mind-sifter had chilled Kirk’s blood.

 

Spock’s mind had been through so much already.

 

During the final confrontation in Kor’s office, the Organians had taken everything out of their hands. They had used their previously hidden power to stop the fighting and had declared that there would be no war between the Federation and the Klingons. They would not allow it, and since they had the power to enforce their will, both sides had had no choice but to submit to the treaty.

 

Kirk had been both relieved and angry.

 

He didn’t want war, of course, but it rankled his nerves to have incorporeal beings take away the Federation’s right to make it’s own choice in the matter.

 

After beaming back aboard the ship, he’d been broody and distant, and when he had finally retreated from the bridge, Spock had silently followed him. He had walked no closer to Kirk than he usually did, and yet he managed to exude so much soothing affection and concern that by the time they reached Kirk's quarters most of Kirk’s tension had melted away.

 

Once inside Spock had undressed them both and offered himself to Kirk, and Kirk had taken him. It had been a slow and tender joining that left them both sated and content. They had fallen asleep soon after, naked, their legs tangled and their foreheads pressed together.

 

At that memory Kirk smiled, gazing affectionately at the sleeping Vulcan.

 

When Spock began to stir, Kirk stretched out half on top of him, pulling Spock onto his stomach and kissing hungrily along the back of his neck.

 

Spock turned his head toward Kirk and his voice came out a sleepy rumble, "Mmm, Jim."

 

Kirk had wanted to hold Spock, to go slow, but he found himself overcome by a burning need to possess him. When he pressed himself against Spock, making his desire known, Spock pushed up into him in invitation. That was all Kirk needed.

 

He made himself slick with the lubricant sitting at the head of the bed and when Spock lifted his hips up Kirk maneuvered himself behind him. Spock was relaxed and pliant from their earlier lovemaking, and Kirk slid into him with a deep moan. He quickly set a steady rhythm, thrusting deep and hard.

 

Spock's upper body was pressed into the bed, his cries smothered by the pillow, but Kirk wanted Spock closer, wanted to hear every sound he made. Kirk wrapped his fingers in the silky dark hair and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. Kirk leaned down to press his chest against Spock's back, his thrusts becoming shallow as he panted out half-formed promises in Spock's ear.

 

Kirk knew that his emotions were pouring into Spock—his desire, his love, his anguish at the thought of losing him—and it seemed to whip them both into a frenzy. Kirk grew sweat-slick, his skin sliding against Spock’s as they moved against each other.

 

Kirk’s blood burned hotter when Spock let out groan beneath him. Kirk wanted to taste him, wanted all of him, and could not seem to get close enough to him.

 

He needed Spock, always. To be without him...

 

It all became too much for Kirk—the love ripping through his mind, the soft, quick sounds spilling from Spock's mouth as he moved back against Kirk to meet each thrust, the realization that Spock had given himself so completely, so full of love and trust...

 

When the orgasm hit, it scattered every thought and feeling in an explosion of white light. Kirk collapsed on top of Spock, flattening him against the mattress. He was only faintly aware that Spock was shaking through the rolling waves of his own orgasm.

 

His thoughts slowly began to reform in his head and he slid off of Spock onto his side. When Spock turned to face him, Kirk pulled him into a kiss. It was deep and unhurried, but when they finally broke apart Spock's expression was serious.

 

"You are troubled," he observed.

 

Kirk thought carefully about what response he should give Spock.

 

He wanted Spock to know that he would do his best to give him whatever he needed, even if what he needed was distance sometimes. Kirk needed to be reassured that they would both be able to keep their heads in situations where one of them was in danger, so that they could continue to be an effective command team.

 

And more than anything, he needed Spock to promise that no matter how high the stresses of the job piled up they would not break, because now that he had Spock he could not bear the thought of losing him.

 

What came out of his mouth was, "I want to bond with you."

 

Spock went stiff next to him. The hand that had been stroking Kirk's side was still, and Spock’s dark eyes were fixed and blank, staring at some point beyond Kirk.

 

Kirk realized after a several moments that Spock had not taken a breath since he'd spoken and gently shook his shoulder.

 

"Spock?"

 

The fingers on his side twitched and began to stroke him again, and Spock's eyes finally focused on Kirk's.

 

"Yes, Jim?"

 

"Well, what do you think?" Kirk paused and reached down to take Spock's hand. "About us bonding?"

 

"Are you certain that is what you want? I would understand if you were hesitant to go through the process again after..." Spock looked vaguely ill for a moment, "your first experience."

 

"It would be different this time, wouldn't it? You're in control of yourself."

 

"Yes, it would be different, but there are many things to consider. You should be made aware of all that a bond entails before making such a decision."

 

"I already have a pretty good idea, Spock, and I'm okay with it."

 

Spock gave him a look that he could not quite decipher, and he felt a low buzz of apprehension coming through their touch that made his heart sink.

 

"Spock, don't you want to?" Kirk asked, trying not to let his hurt or worry seep into his tone.

 

"Very much." Spock's voice was deep and rough, and his hand squeezed Kirk’s.

 

Kirk leaned forward and kissed him, then grinned happily. "Then let's do it." The more Kirk thought about it the more excited he became.

 

"Now?"

 

"Yeah, why not?"

 

Spock's apprehension was gone and he seemed almost amused by Kirk's sudden enthusiasm.

 

"Jim, we are due on the bridge in an hour and twelve minutes. I would require preparation before attempting to bond us, and we would need a period of rest directly after establishing the bond, during which we would need to remain in close proximity to each other."

 

Now that he had made up his mind Kirk was a little disappointed that he'd have to wait, but he scooted closer and smirked. "Close proximity, hmm? Like this?"

 

Kirk leaned in and kissed him again, drawing Spock's body flush against his.

 

"Ideally, yes," Spock murmured into his mouth.

 

Becoming more serious again, Spock added, "It would also be beneficial if we were to work the first few shifts together after our bonding. It will be...difficult for me to be parted from you while the bond is new."

 

Spock seemed mildly embarrassed by this confession, so Kirk nodded and adopted a more serious tone when he replied. "I agree. Neither of us are on the schedule the day after tomorrow, so maybe tomorrow after our shifts end would be a good time to do it. What do you think?"

 

The pause was infinitesimal. "That is acceptable."

 

"Good." Kirk laid a light kiss on Spock's forehead. "I really want this, you know."

 

"I will admit, I was concerned that you would not be able to be able to give yourself to me in that way."

 

"What would you have done if I couldn't?" Kirk asked.

 

"I would do whatever was necessary to keep you," Spock said. When Kirk's eyes softened he went on, "However, there are certain factors that must be considered."

 

“Oh? Like what?"

 

"Certain matters concerning…biology," Spock said, his voice growing fainter.

 

"Biology?" Kirk asked, sitting up. "Spock, are you blushing?"

 

Spock made little effort to hide his indignation. "I am not."

 

Kirk laughed and slid his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright. I won’t say I'm not curious, but I suppose we can talk about it later. Why don't you come take a shower with me. We can stop at the mess for breakfast before we go on shift."

 

"As you wish."

 

Spock seemed relieved to let the subject drop for the moment and followed Kirk into the bathroom. Spock’s movements were somewhat stiff, but Kirk smiled in satisfaction at Spock’s contented expression.

 

Once in the shower Kirk washed Spock beneath the hot spray of water, soapy hands scrubbing Spock's skin a pale shade of green. Spock washed Kirk in turn, diligent and less prone to distraction than his companion. Kirk chuckled to himself and relaxed into the soapy massage, amazed that he should be so fortunate.

 

They dried themselves off and quickly dressed, Kirk tactfully keeping his hands to himself once he realized that Spock's professional demeanor was already beginning to assert itself. Though Kirk had expected nothing less of the Vulcan, he was still proud of Spock's ability to slip so easily back into his role of first officer after such intense lovemaking.

 

It was as it should be. He needed Spock, his first officer, as much as he needed Spock, his lover.

 

Kirk was grateful when they met no one in the corridor outside his quarters, and by the time they reached the mess hall, he felt as if his feet were barely touching the ground.

 

"Jim," he heard McCoy's voice call out.

 

Kirk glanced at Spock before turning his attention to McCoy, who had stood up from a table and was approaching them.

 

"I've been meaning to—" McCoy stopped, his keen eyes narrowing as he looked from Kirk to Spock. "No. You two...?"

 

He felt Spock stiffen next to him, and Kirk adopted an innocent expression. "Doctor, I don't know what you're talking about."

 

"Like hell, you don't." McCoy smiled broadly and slapped Kirk on the shoulder. "Well, it's about damned time. I was gettin' tired of watching you two pout at each other."

 

"Vulcans do not pout," Spock stated, managing to look positively regal in the face of McCoy's unchecked glee. After a moment he turned to Kirk, "Captain, as I do not require sustenance at this time, I will take my leave."

 

Kirk started to protest, but then he saw the faint quirk of Spock’s lips and felt the brush of cool fingertips against the back of his hand as Spock turned to walk away. A pleasant shiver went through Kirk, radiating out from the brief point of contact. Spock was halfway to the door when Kirk became collected enough to call out. "I'll see on you on the bridge, Mister Spock."

 

McCoy grinned at him. “Come sit with me.”

 

Once Kirk had his tray, he went to McCoy's table and sat across from him, relieved that the few occupants in the room seemed too immersed in their own conversations to notice him. As soon as Kirk looked up and met McCoy's knowing gaze, his face began to burn and a sloppy smile spread across his face.

 

"That good, huh?" McCoy said, but then he raised a hand and amended, "I don't need any details."

 

Kirk poked at his oatmeal, and his smile softened. "It's hard to believe that after everything that happened it could be so easy. It just…it works. It feels so natural to be with him, to wake up next to him."

 

"I'm happy for you. Both of you," McCoy said, his blue eyes bright and warm. "You two went through hell together and I was really worried there for a while. It’s obvious you two mean a lot to each other, so it would've been a damned shame if you couldn't work it out."

 

They quietly picked at their food for a few moments, but then McCoy arched an eyebrow and teased, "Though I still don't know what you see in that walking computer."

 

"Bones," Kirk gently scolded.

 

"But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." McCoy's face became sober as he continued, "I thought you'd like to know, I've kept in contact with some of the doctors who've been assisting the Nghians."

 

Kirk sat up straighter, food instantly forgotten. He had wondered how the unfortunate Nghians were faring, but he hadn’t let himself dwell on it too much. He couldn't think about them without remembering what Spock had been put through because of the Cadoan attack, and it still made him feel somewhat nauseated.

 

"Have you? How are they managing?" he asked, putting down his spoon as his stomach gave a little lurch.

 

"They've created a compound that renders the chemical agent inert, so they've been able to return to the cities that were attacked."

 

"Good. That's good." Kirk clasped his hands in front of him, pleased with the positive development but steadily growing more uneasy.

 

"And, with the help of some of our scientists, the formula we used on Spock has been improved, so they've been able to stabilize some of the less severe cases." McCoy took a bite of fruit, and once he’d swallowed it, he went on, "We got really lucky with Spock. Some of the Nghians didn't respond to the treatment at all. They were just too far gone. The mind can only take so much before it’s irreparably damaged."

 

"Yeah, Spock was lucky." Kirk's chest tightened and he pursed his lips. He felt the need to change the subject, and quickly. "Bones, I'm going to bond with him."

 

That certainly did the trick. Kirk tried not to smirk at McCoy's flabbergasted expression.

 

"You're—? Jim, you just—you mean bond, as in Vulcan bonding? As in a _telepathic_ bond?" McCoy stuttered out.

 

"Yes. We’re bonding tomorrow after our shifts end."

 

"Tomorrow?" McCoy's eyes bugged out a little. "Don't you think you're being a little hasty?"

 

"Bones, don't you remember what you said to me before Spock went to Vulcan? You said that I should wait until after the bond was broken and then reassess my feelings once I got my head on straight." Kirk leaned forward, nudging his tray away and crossing his arms on the table. "Well, my head’s on straight and I still want Spock."

 

"Alright, but this is still a big step. I think you should give it more time."

 

"If you're as happy for us as you say you are then why are you so opposed to us joining together in the manner of his people?" Kirk asked. He kept his voice down but the anger in his words was evident.

 

"Wait just a minute, now," McCoy gave Kirk as stern look but softened it with his easy tone. "I'm worried about you, is all. After what I watched you go through before because of the bond, I'm concerned about how another bond will affect your health. And, quite frankly, I'm surprised Spock isn't worried about it too, considering how protective he is over you."

 

"He was worried, of course, but he knows it will be different this time. I won’t be in any danger." When Bones gave him a skeptical look Kirk persisted, "Bones, Spock won’t hurt me."

 

McCoy heaved a defeated sigh. "Fine, but I want you two to keep me apprised of the situation. And I want you to tell me if you get so much as a twitch in your little finger when it's done. And I want Spock to—"

 

"Bones," Kirk said. "It'll be fine. And I’ll keep you informed. I promise."

 

"Okay. Good," McCoy said. Kirk grinned as the doctor muttered into his coffee, "I swear, you two can drive a man to drink..."

 

Feeling better, Kirk ate his breakfast while McCoy raved about the confounding injuries young, starry-eyed ensigns managed to inflict upon themselves in even the safest working conditions. It was a popular topic with the doctor and the safety pamphlets he designed and sent out were woefully underappreciated, according to him.

 

Laughing softly to himself, Kirk stood to go and was surprised when McCoy caught his wrist to stop him. When he looked up McCoy's eyes were shining with warmth.

 

"Congratulations, Jim," McCoy said.

 

"Thanks." Kirk clapped him on the shoulder.

 

As Kirk made his way to the bridge, he couldn't help but reflect on the long series of events that had led to this moment. Here he was, the captain of a fine starship, about to bond with the being he respected and loved more than anyone else in the universe, with years of exploration and adventure ahead of him.

 

So much life to be experienced, so much knowledge to be acquired.

 

When he stepped onto the bridge, Spock seemed momentarily startled by the sight of him, though he covered it well. Once Kirk was settled in the center seat and had been apprised of the ship's status, Spock came to stand next to him.

 

Spock tilted his head minutely toward Kirk. Face expressionless but voice low and concerned, he asked, "Captain, is anything wrong?"

 

"No, Spock, nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect, actually."

 

Kirk smiled at Spock, and his heart swelled with love as Spock’s eyes smiled back. He turned back to the main viewscreen and the endless vista of stars twinkling there.

 

Whispering just loud enough for Spock to hear, he said, "I couldn't ask for more."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who is disappointed to see this end, I am planning a sequel to this story that will pick up soon after they have bonded. I'm not sure when I will be able to write it, but I will get to it eventually!
> 
> To everyone who has left kudos or commented on this fic: THANK YOU. Your encouragement and kind words mean so much to me, and I am very grateful that I was able to share this story with people who appreciate it. 
> 
> Many heartfelt thanks to my beta, Druxykexy, who was with me from the start. Her support kept me writing this story, and her good advice shaped it into something better. Druxykexy is an awesome human being and a great writer, so if you're looking for more fic to read I would suggest you [check her out](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy)!


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